


Oblivion: The Forbidden Fruit

by gratefulsugar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Masturbation, Non-Canon Relationship, Romance, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension, Sexual Violence, Tragedy, Tragic Romance, Underage Sex, Underage Smoking, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-09-15 21:36:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16941180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gratefulsugar/pseuds/gratefulsugar
Summary: In 1991, young Hermione Granger has a strange dream of a pale teenager munching on a crisp, green apple. She'd never met this mystery boy before. Would their worlds one day collide? Years later, that vision comes true as she watches silvery-tongued Draco taking a bite from his delicious green snack. Was it some sort of premonition all along? 6th-year/during war AU Rated M





	1. Part One

**Disclaimer** : I will only say this once - I do not own anything that has to do with the Harry Potter franchise or universe and am in no way at all gaining anything from this except pure fun, and practice for improving my writing skills.

 **AN** : The other fics I gotta work on are just going to have to hold off for now. Yeah, yeah - yadda, yadda I know lol but I'll be updating them soon and aye listen, this plot has plummeted around inside my head for like a year now, so I might as well finally write it. Better late than never, I think.

This is an  **AU** ,  **Non-canon**  story that is only loosely based from the books and movies SO NO COMPLAINING ABOUT IT. I took full creative liberties with this story and wrote it exactly how I wanted. NO RAGRETS, not even a letter. Your hate will be completely ignored and then sacrificed to the blood-thirsty, evil gods of the Underworld.

Also, occasionally I like to imagine Hermione with darker, caramel-colored skin but that's just me. Even so, for this story I've described her this way. It's no bother if you don't want to imagine her how I've written and if you'd rather think of her in your own light that's all fine and dandy and totally your prerogative. I don't care! I just hope you enjoy it either way.

 **Caution** : this fic will be a 1-3 part series and is super naughty, full of uncouth language and graphic, sexual situations. It's rated M for a reason, so please proceed at your own discretion.

The premise of this fic was inspired by the beautiful, emotional song Oblivion by M83 and Susanne Sundfor from the Oblivion Soundtrack.

 **Oblivion: The Forbidden Fruit  
** **Part One  
** -~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~- ****  


_June 5_ _th_ _, 1991: the Granger's Residence - Hampstead, England_

It was incredibly early in the morning, the proof of that shown clearly with the daybreak that was slowly sweeping away the surrendering darkness. The little sparrows and the wrens of the green glen loudly chirped and left their nests to hunt for grubby worms. The glorious, bright streams of sun bombarded through the foggy, grassy suburbia of Heathgate and it beamed through the windows, lighting up the dim residences and waking the majority of the populace to begin their Wednesday routine.

A small, yet resilient young girl still lay asleep in her bed, however she slept  _unsoundly_. It was very unusual for this particular female to not have awakened yet in the first place, seeing as how she typically rose right there with the dawn. The brunette rolled over with a helpless moan, tossing and turning with a nightmare. The gory images in her mind were of betrayals and tragedy - vivid visuals of horrors and the pain so lucid she could actually feel it in her bones as she continued to thrash.

Thankfully, she'd never remember any of it and just as quickly as the unfavorable visions invaded her they dissipated, fading into a liberating warmness that enveloped her conscious with a sudden, mysterious dream.

 _The stone walls around her were adorned with exquisite tapestries and strange paintings, which very curiously had people in them who seemed to be moving about from one portrait to the other. The vaulted ceiling above her indicated that she must be in a grand castle - an_ ancient  _castle. The foggy atmosphere had an eeriness she couldn't quite put her finger on but as she traversed the corridor in this fairy-tale she felt undeniably welcome, a likeness to how she felt in her own home._

_Birds were chittering and chirping from somewhere but she couldn't see and out of the haze approached a figure. Despite how ghostly it appeared she surprisingly did not feel frightened. As the apparition got closer she observed his snow-white skin and his remarkable features made him seem translucent, almost transparent against the mist. The teenage boy sauntered towards her, his stark-light, silver hair swaying over his frosty ice-grey eyes. Although grey they glinted aqua-blue while he glared at her gloomily and she was overcome with a sense of impending dread. Then he looked away, blustering past her and lifted his hand to take a chomp of the sour-green apple she hadn't noticed him holding. His pearly teeth matched the rest of him; as he bit the crispy, delectable fruit they sparkled whitely in the sunshine that gleamed through the high windows. He gave her one last look as he chewed his snack, penetrating her with his mystifying stare and the light bursting forth from outside combined with the glint in his tired, sad eyes shone with such a brightness it stung at her own retinas… all she could feel was sadness. The boy was gone, everything had gone white, she couldn't see and it burned. Why was everything so white?_

_Hermione..._

"Hermione…?" The girl stirred, awakening from the dream. She tried opening her eyes but was blinded by the shining sun pouring in, familiar to what was just in her head. "I let you sleep in. Goodness knows you needed it," her mother's tender voice brought her back to the present.

"What time is it?" Hermione purred groggily, wiggling her toes and stretching her arms and legs like a lazy feline.

"It's just past eight, dear. I figured since terms almost over that it wouldn't matter if you were a teensy-bit late but mostly because you've been tuckering yourself out so much from constantly researching what you can about the  _new_  school," Roselyn Granger was explaining as she fished the girl's drawers for clothes and by that time Hermione had thrown herself out of bed and was standing in front of the vanity, frantically brushing her tangled mane of unruly curls. The woman sashayed over to her daughter, carrying a fresh, green sweater and a pair of jeans. "Here you go. I picked an outfit for you. All you've got to do is fetch your undergarments and boots. The weather man said we're due for rain,"

"Okay. Thanks mum," she replied.

A distant voice from downstairs reverberated through the house. "Hey, Rose?"

"Be right there Hugo-darling," Mrs. Granger called to Mr. Granger and set Hermione's clothes on the chair. "Think you'll be ready in fifteen minutes? I've got bacon and eggs on the table,"

"Be ready in  _five_ ,"

"Excellent love, I'll see you in the kitchen."

Young, intelligent Hermione Granger would be twelve that year in September, not long after she arrived at the new private school she'd been accepted into… but this academy wasn't like normal schools. This academy was for children who were different, children of the special sort. This was a solace to her because these children - her future peers - were to be just like her: bequeathed with magical abilities.

Miss Granger was unlike her parents in this aspect and she really wanted to know more about why. So, she couldn't wait to get to Hogwarts and learn so many fantastic things about magic and about herself and…

She picked up the sweater her mum picked out for her; oddly, it was the same leafy shade of kiwi-green as that  _apple_. She awoke so abruptly she'd forgotten all about that strange… was it even a dream? She could remember it taking place in a castle. Had she been mentally transported to Hogwarts? She'd only read about it in the books Professor Minerva McGonagall had lent to her months ago when she'd visited the Granger residence with the acceptance letter. Everything she'd seen in her mind seemed so real as if she were really there and it was like it'd already happened before, a long time ago in another life maybe or perhaps it was a moment she had yet to witness. Surely, it couldn't be a premonition of some kind? The feeling  _did_  make her a tad uneasy… a lump in her gut that told her of trials and hardships to come.

Hermione dismissed these notions with a sigh and hastily got dressed, willing herself to forget about it for now. It was all just a dream… but still, that  _boy_. The ghost-like image of him would haunt her.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 _September 1_ _st_ _, 1991: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scottish Highlands_

The Great Hall was raucous with the beginning of the new term and all of the students and faculty members were elated, loud with mirthful camaraderie as they indulged in the feast. The first-years felt the full-effect of wonderment, dazzled at the marvel that was the ancient academy and home of influential, magical people for  _centuries_.

Hermione felt that way anyway and she couldn't help but peer over at the table where the students donned in Slytherin's green and silver sat snickering. There was a boy over there, a boy with an odd name and eyes made of ice. She'd glanced him on the way up the stairwell in the Entrance Hall previous to the Sorting Ceremony. She'd done a double-take but held an unassuming demeanor as she speculated from afar that he had the same, uncommonly fair features as the mystery teenager from her dream. Although, this recently-appointed Slytherin was clearly not old enough to possibly be the same boy and she couldn't recall what colors were on the teenager's uniform in her bizarre visions.

A chill ran down her spine. Honestly it all gave Hermione the creeps. She shrugged it away and took a gracious gulp of her pumpkin juice with a refreshing smack of her lips, completely relishing in the comforts of her new home and decided to forget the dream, to erase it from her memory for a great, long while. It would be years to come before she'd be forced to give it another thought.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 _November 18_ _th_ _, 1996: Gryffindor Girl's Dormitory - Hogwarts Castle_

Hermione awoke with a start, huffing and gasping for breath. There was a thin line of sweat uncomfortably beading around her forehead. It threatened to drip and she wiped it clean, letting out a small groan of frustration and tousling her long, wavy tendrils about. She banished them away, the nightmares that still sometimes tortured her. They were terrifying. First she'd be running for her life from a herd of ferocious beasts and then quick as that she's reliving the fateful events of last spring in the Department of Mysteries - when Sirius Black was  _murdered_  by that lunatic bitch Bellatrix Lestrange in cold-blood and nasty Voldemort  _possessed_  Harry…

"You alright over there?" someone asked her from across the room. It was Parvati Patil. She'd stopped searching through her trunk and actually sounded concerned for her roommate.

"Yes, quite. Thanks," she mumbled and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She was yawning and stretched, waking herself up. Lavender Brown grunted in the bed beside her, still snoring even though the misty morning began to seep steadily through the red-curtained windows and into the room. It was Monday and Hermione had a lot to do, so she couldn't understand a person like Lavender. They were the same age but polar opposites. The girl always slept in until the last minute and then rushed to get ready. To top it off , the narcissist sometimes made herself late to breakfast and even class from taking far too much time to perfect her "pristine" appearance. Apparently not everyone was as inherently practical or punctual as Hermione was.

Hermione - who'd been anointed as one of Gryffindor's sixth-year Prefects - grabbed her wand and the fresh uniform she'd spread out for herself on her own trunk the night before, heading to the lavatory they all shared. Once inside she closed the door and washed her tanned, freckled face at the sink, smoothing it over with moisturizer afterwards. She applied rosy-gold tints of makeup to her cheeks and swept pink shadow on her eyelids, the natural-look she typically displayed. She rounded off by fixing up her shapely brows and once she was done she tamed her chocolatey locks into a messy but flattering bun that rested at the top of her head, secured with a deep red scrunchie. A couple strands of curls framed her features nicely and she was ready to lather her coconut-cucumber and vanilla lotion into her tawny-olive toned skin and get dressed.

Later that day, she left Ancient Runes class and walked through the sixth-floor corridor in the direction of the Prefect's Bathroom on the floor below. Earlier on she'd endured a harrowing workload in Herbology class, getting herself all dirtied and muddied up. Certainly she was ripe with the stench of manure after two hours of tending to the growth in the greenhouses. She'd vigilantly helped Professor Sprout alongside the dedicated Hufflepuffs and after having to sit through  _another_  class, she was now desperate to enjoy a soothing bubble bath before she went back to the common room to study.

Initially she was unaware of her surroundings, lost in thought about her classwork but as she was adjusting her heavy bag she listened to the familiar but unexpected twittering of birds in their cages hanging from the ceiling. Hermione never noticed they'd kept any near the sixth and seventh floor stairwell and she wondered what type of birds they were. She was turning to look when the bird song was interrupted by a very distinct, crisp crunch. Hermione's focus instantly snapped in the sound's direction, zeroing in ahead on Draco Malfoy walking towards her. He kept momentum but gazed at her for a second, holding a green apple to his chest and feeling utterly caught off guard by her sudden attention to him. The strong sense of Deja-vu washed over her; she was overcome with the awareness that she'd experienced this moment before, in a memory long-forgotten. Then a small speck of sweet lingered at the corner of his mouth and unconsciously his tongue darted out and captured it, luring it inside in the most tantalizing manner. He'd kept his eyes on her, and Hermione was more…  _transfixed_  by this than she'd like. Somehow her feet had become made of stone, weighed down and glued to the floor as if she were a solid statue. She hadn't meant to gape so openly. The silver-haired snake continued to walk by, glaring at her with contempt and awkwardly trying to hide the reddening in his cheeks.

"What the  _fuck_  are  _you_  looking at, Granger?" he'd snarled, and mumbled under his breath from above her - " _Vile swot_ ," he shuffled by as fast as he could but awaited the inevitable verbal assassination that was to come.

Yet, there was nothing. No shouting, no cursing - absolutely nothing from her and he felt so surprised he actually turned around. Astonishingly he was met with the backside of her, the mountain of wild hair on her cranium bobbing as she receded the opposite way down the corridor.

Occasionally, Hermione Granger  _was_  prone to that - just simply ignoring him or walking away from his insults but this time he'd swore at her, then topped it off by reminding her just how much he found her repulsive. She'd always despised his insults and would berate him for his blatant disrespect so it was mind-boggling she hadn't come after him or screamed in his face about it. She must really be going through something, not that he'd care. Or maybe… was it possible? Was the Gryffindor Princess herself actually  _scared_  of him for once?

Well, he was certain she and Weasel-face were in on it with Pothead, whatever  _it_  was. Draco wasn't positive what the irritating trio was up to exactly, but he definitely knew they had suspicions of him becoming a Death Eater over the summer holiday and believed that he got the Dark Mark… which he  _did_ , in fact.

When his father was thrown in Azkaban the young Malfoy heir had gotten branded with the obligatory tattoo, signifying his eternal loyalty and devotion to Voldemort, the Dark Lord. From there he was ordered to go forth with the loathsome burden of murdering Headmaster Albus Dumbledore - an incredibly daunting task of the  _futile_  variety.

Draco was on his way right then, heading to the Room of Requirement that was upstairs on the seventh-floor. He'd gratifyingly found the ever-elusive Vanishing Cabinet and was currently attempting to mend it but he had to work fast. Holiday break was soon approaching and he was running out of time. Before he knew it, the days would get longer. It'll be April, then May and the school year would be quickly coming to a close. If he didn't succeed by then he might... ugh, things would get really bad,  _worse_  than if he were to just go on and kill the old fool. He needed to just get it  _over_  with. Unfortunately, Draco knew he was expected to fail, so that Voldemort could dispose of him as a message to the others, a message to Lucius he was not to be defied. This just inspired Draco to do everything he could to succeed.

It was all was giving him so much anxiety, especially with the Dark Lord having taken over his residency and using his beloved Manor as a hideout. He could remember how depressed his mother was as he'd left for his first day of term. Draco had almost cried on his way to the station but there was nothing he or she could do about it. Now, she was a prisoner in her own home and Draco was a prisoner to these ancient walls.

The birds above him chirped happily in their cages as he rounded the corner, up the steps to the next level and without reason his mind drifted straight back to the confusing encounter with that wide-eyed little bint… why  _had_  she gazed at him like she was so terrified? He hadn't done anything to her directly, had he? Was it because of his father? Did Lucius happen to fuck shit up at the Ministry more than he'd heard? He was well aware what his Aunt Bellatrix had done to Potter's godfather. Could that be it? What was he missing? There must be  _something_ he didn't know. He had to learn more… but how? Maybe he would ask  _her -_  ask Hermione Granger.

Draco had been putting up a front for a while now. He didn't find the Great Swot of Gryffindor to be unappealing in the least. Quite frankly it was the opposite. Although she could be a total bitch at times (and a  _mudblood_ ) he couldn't deny it: the caramel-skinned, honey-eyed beauty was an intimidatingly brilliant witch, and he thought her voluminous, coffee-colored curls to be gorgeous and exotic, not frizzy or repugnant. You'd never hear him say it aloud but she was looking more decent, more  _attractive_  each time he saw her (which was a fair-amount, by the way).

Even today with her toppling, messy bun and her dirt-dried skin and clothes she was the epitome of a bushy-tailed, adorable  _doe_. If she ever felt so inclined, he'd  _fuck_  her. He'd rut the stuck-up prude into oblivion like a  _buck_. In class sometimes he'd catch himself staring, memorizing her curves. Then he'd go to a place of solitude and bash his candle-stick, unashamedly letting filthy visions of roughly pounding himself inside her infiltrate his mind. He thinks of pushing his long, pulsating cock right into the entrance of her sodden, trim little muff... Hermione would take all of him as he slides himself in and out of her slick tightness, filling her up to the hilt with his meat. He'd be groaning in hot pleasure while he bangs her deliberately against a wall. He imagines her liking it  _so_  much she's whimpering and meweling, her petite body writhing against him from the electric friction of their  _raw_   _fucking_  - his very own minx. He'd squeeze her perfect, bouncy tits and she'd clench with an orgasm, her sticky juices overflowing all over him. She moans into his ear and…

Shit, he'd better be  _careful_. He was almost at the point where the Room of Requirement started listening and he had a rock-hard tent in his pants. If he kept thinking like  _that_  he wasn't sure what kind of trouble would manifest in that ever-changing room beyond the hidden door.

He had to wise-up, for Salazar's sake. Draco couldn't let himself get distracted so easily by such unobtainable whims, not when he had so much to take care of, so much to  _deal_  with.

Hours later, long after the sun set and the lunar half-moon tranquilly weaved through the starlit sky, Draco Malfoy was bombarded with night-terrors of a ghastly, nefarious nature and unfortunately for him the torment never ended after that; he'd kept having these visions with her there but they weren't good. She'd be screaming for mercy, for Draco to just end her life so the pain would go away.

Night after night, he'd start out in absolute blackness and he'd be running. So very fast he ran but no matter how far he went he'd come upon one gruesome scene after the next, that which disturbingly always starred Gryffindor's Princess. Obviously, Draco didn't  _fucking_  like it. This wasn't fair. What had he done? Was this all his fault? Was this to be Granger's outcome, her fate all along? Yet, it was never at his hands in the nightmares, no. It was a blurry figure, a dark shadow looming over her. They'd be mutilating and viciously raping her bruised, battered form. He wanted to help but he had to look away, sickened by what he saw and the figure wouldn't let him get to her - he wasn't strong enough. He was a  _weakling_  just like his damned father. So he would run and run but it was always the same and every scene brought with it a more awful, different crime.

For weeks Draco had these unmerciful, sadistic terrors. He'd tried everything, eventually turning to the strongest Dreamless Sleep elixirs that Severus Snape had as well as Madame Pomfrey's stash. Only for a few days did this work, until Draco built a tolerance and was unable to keep using it on a regular basis.

By the time he'd returned from winter break for the holidays he'd barely slept a wink. He was outrageously knackered and sore in his muscles from a lack of good rest. Not only just but his neck had been constantly breathed down, his movements constantly watched. His joints were stiff, his pale skin jaunt and sallow with black circles under his twinkle-less eyes. He hadn't been able to get any real peace and his poor mother… she was losing it in that house on her own. She was fading fast and the Dark Lord… if Draco fucked this up that snake-mouthed dictator without a nose was going to  _murder_  her. There was no other choice - he could not fail.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 _January 25_ _th_ _, 1997: the Grounds - Hogwarts Castle, Scottish Highlands_

"You've  _got_  to be kidding me!" Hermione shrieked and immediately dropped her bag, packing together a huge ball of snow and pelting it right at Harry. She was covered in the fluffy, white substance and it stuck to her face, the warmth from her melting it to water and now she, Harry and Ron were having a snowball battle.

She was  _soaked_. Her black cloak was wet with icy flakes but she didn't care. They were all chuckling like mad, dusty and damp but merry. As the three of them slowed their playful exchange she relaxed, breathing in the frigid cold air in the wind that'd traveled from the bare-boned forests and over the stark white hills around them. For the first time in a while, she felt truly alive.

It had been wonderful to think about something else for a time, something besides the pale-blonde ferret-boy. After their odd encounter back in November the princely Slytherin had started looking more awful as the days went on, as if he'd gotten absolutely no sleep. Hermione hated to admit it, especially with Harry and Ron's theories on him being a Death Eater, but she'd become rather worried over his well-being… and it wasn't just  _that_.

She remembered the dream. How could she not? There it was, in plain view right for her to see: that  _stupid_  green apple. Hermione was sure she hadn't had a green apple since childhood and now she recalled why. She'd also donated that lime-green jumper she'd once owned to a charitable cause, throwing a fit during the summer holiday when she was eleven years old because the color was a reminder of how much the dream creeped her out. Now this - her exact vision had sprung to life. Had it been a premonition of some kind all along? Was something bad going to happen and did it have to do with Malfoy? There was no way... was there? She was overreacting, right?

Hermione hadn't  _hated_  Divination. She just saw no use for the class if it was being taught by the likes of Professor Trelawney. That woman wouldn't have been able to teach her a damn thing - therefore she thought eventually she'd simply learn on her own time. Hermione never thought she'd one day find out that she'd actually developed such a divine power, if that were the case.

And dare she say that if it  _was_  the case, what did it all mean? Why in Godric's good name would she have a mysterious "premonition" about Draco sodding Malfoy years ago, months before she  _met_  him? Nothing about it made any sense to her… and his outward appearance had become so glum and down-trodden. His now longer, silvery tresses were always a ruffled mess and his darkened eyes held so much stress and  _sadness_. Hermione could tell he was ruminating on so much, but why? She was getting so very curious. Honestly, he looked seriously drug-addled - like he'd been swept up in the undertow of addiction.

The Princess of Gryffindor shook away the thoughts as she followed her friends through the courtyard and headed down the ground-floor hallway towards the Grand Staircase.

Little did they know, their friendly-fire snow-fight had been witnessed and watching in the shadows around the bend was the Slytherin Prince, puffing on a French tobacco spliff he'd rolled prior to coming outside. The grey smog danced around and how none of them had smelled the smoke, or spied him leering at them was beyond him.

Draco felt a nostalgic longing while he looked over at them, wishing he had more time to spend with his own friends. He'd stared at Granger, enchanted. The fluffy snowflakes had attached to and melted in her long, walnut-brown hair and her Gryffindor gold and red scarf came untangled as she jumped down to pack up more white stuff. She pitched the hard, rounded arsenal at Weasley, walloping him right in the face and they were all cracking up. She was laughing and giggling, genuinely happy and it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. For some befuddling reason, Draco wanted to be the one to make her laugh like that…

He vehemently shot daggers in Ron Weasley's direction as he saw him latch his hand around hers and plant a smooch on her cheek while they faded back within the castle. Overridden with dismay from the realization that he would never get to make Hermione Granger happy in those ways, he felt himself go mad with the question of  _why_  he even cared so much.

Ah, oh yes. The night terrors - they still hadn't subsided. All he could think about was her and he really didn't want to. It had started out as just an itty-bitty crush around third or fourth year, probably. It was  _nothing_. He'd merely wanked off to the thought of her every once in a while, engrossed with the fantasy of the forbidden fruit he couldn't have. Now things were completely different... He was invaded with horrific visuals of Granger being taken against her will, tortured until she was bloody and broken and nothing he'd tried stopped the nightmares from returning. Somewhere in the mix, Draco had actually grown feelings for her. In secret, he'd admired her from afar, smitten but unable to approach her. A coward, as always. He was certain that it was his time to fade away... but he couldn't give up on everything, not yet. If Hermione Granger wasn't to be the death of him, then Voldemort would be without question.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 _February 14_ _th_ _, 1997: the Astronomy Tower - Hogwarts Castle_

It was dark, after rounds and almost ten o'clock when Hermione sat down on the bench against the wall and continued weeping softly, alone in the Astronomy classroom. This was just what she wanted - to be away from Ronald, to be away from everyone. This had been the worst Valentine's Day in the history of her life.

That brainless, dim-witted Lavender Brown… Hermione really ought to just  _smack_  her and was unsure why she hadn't when she'd found her canoodled up to Ron in a loving embrace, snogging each other senseless on a lofty chair in the corner of the common room. Lavender  _knew_. She  _fucking_  knew Hermione and Ron had a… thing. Hermione wasn't exactly sure what that thing was but it was there and she'd been nurturing the potential they'd shared for years. Frustratingly, that spark had sizzled out.

Earlier that evening her and Ron went on a lovely walk through the castle, tickling and rough-housing with each other along the way. His hazel, ocean-blue eyes had shone with mirth and his jovial face was glowing, indicating that he was glad to be spending time with her, or so she'd thought. He'd even given her gifts; a transfigured bushel of traditional red roses (he hadn't mentioned what it'd been before, most likely something ridiculous) and a last minute card he created using a folded scrap of un-special parchment with a sloppily-written, half-assed poem splayed inside. Disappointingly, it had all been a façade and the Ron Weasley Hermione thought she knew and loved was a  _lie_.

It wasn't fair, she thought hopelessly as the hot tears seeped out of her amber-brown eyes and down her cheeks. Ronald and her were supposed to be together - an item, a power-couple, weren't they? Hermione always believed so but now that felt so foolish. He didn't love her, no not really, not the way she wanted him to and not in the way she could have loved him. It was  _over_ , damn him. She'd never be able to give him another chance because she wasn't sure she'd ever fully heal from the trauma.

Suddenly something stirred in the darkness and Hermione could hear footsteps coming up the stairwell. It wasn't necessarily the quietest tower of the castle and it was easy to tell if someone was approaching. "Who's there…?" she questioned firmly but timidly.

The silhouette ascended to the top of the landing and stood there observing her. From the dim shadows the tall, lean-built figure grew closer, taking tentative strides towards her. "Granger…? Uh, it's just me, Malfoy," he replied.

Her eyebrow quirked up at him, bemused. " _Just_  you…?" she grabbed her Vine-wood wand, wielding the only weapon she had as defense and he had the audacity to feel slightly offended. "I don't know what  _that's_  supposed to mean when you're… well,  _you_."

Draco could tell by her puffy, flustered skin and frazzled demeanor that she'd just been crying. Somehow, he found in him a desire to be kind to her. "Are you - um, are you okay?" but this was an unwelcome shock to her senses and she was not having it.

" _Seriously_?" she seethed angrily, gritting her teeth. "Why in Merlin's name would you even care if I was, Malfoy? We've  _never_  been friendly," Hermione's earthy eyes glittered, welling up with more saline tears that were threatening to spill over.

"I-I'm…" he was pretty positive that a pathetic "I'm sorry" wasn't going to make up for anything and stopped himself before he rambled onward.

As he sputtered there in a stupor Granger just kept glaring at him, no doubt willing his entire existence to disappear but he wasn't going to leave her yet, not when she was in this condition. He'd happened upon her in the night, upset and alone and what if it was a sign? What if this all was a message to him of the  _spiritual_  sort? It was as if their lives were intertwined in the intricate, woven web of time - a bit like their souls were lost within a celestial labyrinth of deep riddles, designed by the sacred universe and it was calling out to him with visions and hidden clues. He and Granger's energies were colliding... Did she ever feel the same, confounding things he did? It felt like they were connected somehow. Would this witch ultimately be his fate and he, hers? Draco had never believed in that kind of thing but reluctantly he might be beginning to…

A single, sad tear stealthily escaped from her sight and he stood up straight, mentally preparing himself for what he wanted to convey. "Why do you waste your time with that  _idiot_  Weasley," he asked, his usual drawl slicing through the silence and she shuddered. He knew? Malfoy sounded different, right then. He actually sounded like he was being nice. "Why do you let him make you cry when you could… you could have  _anyone_  you wanted, Granger and you choose to lower your standards. It doesn't make any sense," the apple's of his cheeks twinged red as he struggled, sweeping the mass of hair from the front of his eyes but he'd gotten across the point he wanted to relay. The Gryffindor peered up at him, thrown off by his crystal-clear compliment. She wiped the wet streaks from her face and her lavish eyelashes batted at him bashfully, confused but filled with adoration nonetheless. Draco could see that her whole décolletage pinked with a tender blush as it contrasted boldly against the material of her cream-colored turtle-neck.

"How... how did you know?" she stuttered, giving a small sniff and crossed her arms, feeling very vulnerable.

"Just a simple estimation, that's all. I'd gathered, that because it's Saint Valentine's Day and you're up here crying, alone in the Astronomy Tower  _and_  Weaslebee is notoriously-known to be a sniveling  _mongrel_ , well it wasn't hard to put it together, Granger."

Hermione snorted disdainfully, humorless. "It wasn't notoriously-known to  _me_ ," she started. "I was blinded by our friendship. I'd thought…" she trailed off and increasingly felt more embarrassed, confessing this all to the Malfoy heir. "Oh, never you mind. It doesn't matter. The friendship is  _over_ ," she finished with an air of finality.

"Somehow, I doubt that's true. Real friendships last forever," he offered. If any of his Slytherin mates heard that they'd probably shun him from the group. He was being such a sappy-sucker. This girl brought it out in him. Since he'd met her his instinct was to consistently bully her and be mean to her but right now his instinct made a one-hundred and eighty degree turn. He felt the innate need to… protect her.

"No," she said but still she'd been taken aback by his comment. "He's betrayed me without  _remorse_ , thinks he's entitled to his actions and justifies it all by blaming me for everything, as if I wasn't interesting or fun enough for him. Well, news flash Ronald Weasley: you're the one who's  _boring_  damnit," she sneered sassily, lightening the mood and they both chuckled. Draco felt delighted she might have actually cheered up, even as she lamented on and on about that undeserving, ginger-haired git.

Hermione hadn't noticed how or when the snake snuck by and sat down on the bench beside her, hadn't even noticed when she'd lowered her wand many moments ago. "That's the right attitude. Nicely said, I say." he amiably elbowed her in the ribs and her deep red flush persisted to rise over her freckled face. Draco swallowed the breath that caught in his wind-pipe. His mouth watered, thinking of brushing his mouth across those tiny dots adorning her nose, thinking how much he'd like to nuzzle into her and inhale her essence. She smelled so good so close to him... He lustily gulped down a growl. The girl before him was  _stunning._  She was watching as his Adam's apple slowly bobbed in his throat with great interest. The large larynx protruding behind the skin of his neck showed her that he was, indeed a  _man_.

'Fuck, fuckity,  _fuck!'_  he screamed inside his brain, wishing he had the bullocks to ignite himself ablaze in a burning, spontaneous, lethal fire... or Apparate. Hermione was looking right into his eyes and he could tell she wanted him to kiss her. Why would she want to  _do_  that? Oh, damnit he couldn't, no,  _no_! He wouldn't. Draco was going to ruin this perfect fucking moment. He couldn't involve her in his unbecoming situations, couldn't make her unsafe. Out of nowhere he was thinking that maybe his nightly-terrors were a warning that if he carried on and pursued a clandestine romance with Granger that he'd likely end up getting her killed or  _worse_ , much worse. What if his terrors were trying to tell him to stay away? Hell, with the way the outcome of the war was looking they'd both be dead one day anyway, as much as he prayed that weren't the truth but if so he hoped her death would be painless, unlike in his visions.

Hermione was shutting her eyes, bringing her hands up to graze her fingers gingerly across his collarbone but he grabbed her around the wrists before she made contact with his opalescent epidermis. " _Don't_ ," he muttered and she blinked at him, waiting for him to elaborate. "It's just - Granger, you know very well that I'm no good for you.  _I'm. No. Good._ "

She wanted to cackle at him and make a sarcastic remark, agreeing with him about how much good he lacked precisely but bit her tongue, instead addressing him about his haggard, unhealthy appearance. "You don't  _look_  good Malfoy, no offense. You look sick, honestly. Now, I have to ask: are  _you_  alright?"

"Stop right there," he interrupted and rudely attempted to belittle her. "I'm not going to talk with  _you_  about any of the shit I've endured, princess. I'm sure it wouldn't be so easy for you to relate to  _any_  of it, let alone what I have to -" he paused, realizing he'd said  _way_  too much.

Perplexed with intrigue, Hermione barreled on. "What? What do you have to -" Draco didn't let her finish and stood from the bench. He began to walk away. "Wait,  _Draco_ … Draco what're you -"

" _No_! You're not allowed to call me that," he reared back, menacingly standing above her and she winced, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around herself again. "Don't-don't you ever fucking call me that, you  _hear_  me?" He hissed, vibrating with rage like a buzzing hornet. The Silver Prince didn't let her answer because he was running away, just like he ran from her in his unsavory dreams. It's just… the way she said his name: it was exactly how her frail voice sounded as she wailed out to him in agony from being beaten to a pulp, torn and crying for him to stop running, begging him to return and save her. He couldn't believe he'd just yelled at her in such a way. He didn't mean to, he'd busted open like an egg, overflowing with immense irritation and Draco reckoned he wouldn't ever be able to look her in the eyes after this.

He should have just fucking  _kissed_  her. What harm could one, tiny kiss have actually done? Now, he'd never know. Draco would never smile again.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 **AN** : Thank you so much for finishing Part One of the 3-part series! If you liked it please leave a review and follow immediately. I will be updating in due time and you won't want to miss it! Are there any questions you'd like me to answer? Cheers to you, my friends. Until next time :0)


	2. Part Two

**AN** : Just a friendly reminder, this is an  **AU**  story. I've changed quite a bit around to make my plot work. So just go along with it, yeah? It's  **NON-CANON**  mmkay? GREAT, this fic is only loosely based off the books and movies.

One more thing: Harry accidentally says the Taboo on Voldemort's name so just be aware of that for some point in your future readings. So without future ado, I give you the second installment.

 **Oblivion: The Forbidden Fruit**  
Part Two  
-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 _March 1_ _st_ _, 1997: the Great Hall - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scottish Highlands_

It was Saturday at breakfast and anyone who'd been hungry was there in attendance. Some were already hastily finishing up their meals, having somewhere they needed to go. Others merrily chatted with each other or were meandering around the grand dining room, greeting their friends in neighboring houses… but then there were those like Hermione Granger. She was anxiously biting her lip as she read over the Daily Prophet. The coffee she held splattered against the side of the mug as her hand started to shake with worriment of the ever-changing tides. Yet again, there'd been more muggle killings, this time orchestrated only by Death Eaters.

Allegedly, Corban Yaxley, Amycus Carrow and several other unidentified men had followed Fenrir Greyback to a small village on the coast, just looking for blood. Well, they got it. They'd vandalized everything in sight, demolishing houses and places of business as they raped and murdered their way through. When they were finished, they'd burnt the whole town to dust and debris. There were three-hundred and ninety-six casualties, more than half of them children. The Ministry of Magic had done their best to deal with this epic tragedy but the muggle Prime Minister was beside himself from the great genocide. The entire, gruesome event had left the people of Great Britain with so many unanswered questions, some who'd had family that lived in the village and they'd probably never know why they died.

Hermione knew the three thugs had gone out on some sort of impulsive rampage with this one. So, she was absolutely horrified they'd happen upon her parent's town one night by chance, or that Voldemort would send his minions after them anyway.

"Let me see," demanded Harry Potter sitting beside her. Grimacing still, Hermione handed it over and forced herself to take a big sip of her coffee. Recently, during these anxiety-inducing days of turmoil she'd turned to the gasoline-like substance in which she tended to add at least a dash of milk. "Buggar  _me_ ," the onyx-haired boy breathed, crestfallen at the news. " _Shit_ , I can't believe it. A whole fucking town Hermione…" his eyes continued scanning the article.

"Yes… yes, I know," she responded, almost mad that he'd said it out-loud.

"A  _whole_   _town_ …?" Ginevra Weasley cut in, voice full with a heavy heart. Hermione sighed. Ginny set down her pumpkin juice, sweeping a strand of her ruby-red mane behind her ear. "That's - that's just… Blimey, I'm frightened for what's to come. So many… deaths," she spoke the word with a gulp. Harry put his hand over hers in a gesture of comfort.

Just then, they heard an effervescent giggle but it wasn't a pleasant sound. It was the exact type of bubbly, shrill quacking that could make her teeth itch and her sight go blind with rage, like nails on a chalkboard or those stupid packing peanuts used for delivering packages. Hermione tried so hard not to, but she took a peek down the table and so did Gin and Harry.

Ronald Weasley was being doted on by his new beau, Lavender Brown. She was handing him a bag of sweets she'd bought at Honeydukes last weekend. He was grinning, excited at the prospect of enjoying his birthday candy and she was guffawing crazily, leaving wet smooches over his pink-stung face. Hermione turned away and just about gagged. All the two spent their time doing was  _snogging_ , and with no shame allowed everyone else to see. It was despicable. Public displays of affection were not recommended or permitted rather, and Hermione might see to it to deduct some points soon if they got really offensive.

Yes, she was well-aware it was Ron's birthday that day but Hermione didn't care. She had plenty to worry about as it was and she hadn't spoken a word to him since the Valentine's incident in the common room. Ron had let her be, accepting the icy withdrawal of their friendship and she'd moved on.

Sort of… it'd been over two weeks since then, since her world collided with Draco Malfoy's in the Astronomy Tower. Ironically, he hadn't reached out to her, hadn't apologized. In a way, Hermione understood his pain, understood why he'd wig out at her attempt to ask him about his life but the fact that he'd fled only made her more curious -  _and_  suspicious. Even so, she'd decided not to disclose to Harry of her brief conversation with the Slytherin, no matter that he was potentially a Death Eater. Hermione could do some digging on her own, before Harry got in the way.

Hermione focused her attentions to the Slytherin table. Malfoy wasn't there. Maybe he'd gotten some rest for once and was sleeping in… or perhaps he was out and about. Who knew? Not she.

In the late afternoon, she was cozied up at a desk in the library finishing up an essay for Charms class. Of course, the brilliant witch was at the library on a Saturday. The weather was windy and bleak, not something she wanted to step out into right now although she welcomed fresh air on a regular basis. Nowhere near the Gryffindor Common Room did she want to be, for that was one of Lav-Lav and Won-Won's favorite places to snuggle up as they "studied". They'd managed to clear everyone out most of the time and Hermione dreaded her nights sleeping in the bed next to Brown's. It wasn't like she could really sleep anywhere else so she'd have to wait until next year when she got to be Head Girl… if they even got that far.

What if… what if they didn't even get to go to school next year? What if they had to go on the run and hide? This is where most of her thoughts took her these days - to a completely negative space, full of distress.

Then out of the blue there he was: the pale Prince of Slytherin. He'd been brusquely marching past but he stopped as she caught his eye. He lingered right before the next aisle, resting his left hand at the end of the bookshelves. He was mulling over his next move, clearly exasperated from his life. In his other hand he held his favorite snack. Hermione couldn't see him but she knew he was standing there as she fidgeted in her seat, suddenly unable to breathe. There was a resolute thwack as Draco smacked his palm against the wooden frame with a decision. He'd turned around and was coming straight towards her.

Draco didn't look angry though, or ready for a fight but Hermione wasn't certain what to expect. He seemed solemn, but not at peace. He still looked disheveled and deprived of sleep with his blackened, sunken eyes and silver locks stuck-up in disarray - so unlike the clean-cut boy from their younger years. He really did look like a  _ghost_. While a war was devastating the world beyond the walls of Hogwarts, a war was raging inside Draco Malfoy's mind.

He was also carrying a godforsaken apple, green as can be.

' _S.O.S_.' she thought.

Before she had time to do anything but swallow away her intense fear he'd stood in front of the table, compelling her to lock gazes with him. She abided, staring deeply into his icicle storm-grey orbs while he assessed her. He set his apple down and pressed his knuckles over the darkened oak. Hermione said nothing, only waited for him to speak. He rolled his bottom lip inward, pruriently chewing on it as he thought about how he should begin.

Clearing his throat, he leaned in a bit closer and told her quietly, "I uh - well to put it simply, I've been hoping since that night for a chance to say…" he paused, making an impromptu choice. He maneuvered around the table, putting his bag on the floor and set himself down in front of her. Hermione faced him in her chair, her golden-eyes glimmering with bewildered appreciation. What the  _hell_  was he doing getting down on one-knee like that?

 _Sweet Salazar_ , the Princess of Gryffindor was fetching with her hair plaited behind her in a long braid, Draco thought as he knelt there. Hermione was dressed in her weekend garb, as was he. She was wearing a lilac-blue jumper and black fitted joggers. He tried not to get too distracted by her beauty and remembered he had something to say.

"Granger, I want you to know how sorry I am for shouting at you. Truly, I am… I don't know how to express it, I…" he pleaded to her. Never in his life would he'd have believed that one day he'd be begging Hermione Granger for forgiveness, and on his bloody  _knees_ , for Slytherin's sake. Yet if he could he'd reach out and caress her hand but he didn't have the bullocks to. If he touched her, even something so innocent he knew he'd feel more than he should and that was dangerous territory. "I know I've shouted at you dozens of times - most times actually and I'm sure I could never  _actually_  make up for it but… could you perhaps find it within yourself to humbly forget it ever happened? We can carry on with our lives as we usually do,  _except_  I'll leave you alone. From now on I won't yell at you, I won't say a word at all,"

 _What!?_  That's… not necessarily the outcome Hermione wanted. What  _was_  the outcome she wanted? That wasn't clear for her anymore. Malfoy was  _so_  handsome while he leaned his arm on his knee, even with his slightly sickly appearance. He was sporting a very casual look she'd rarely glimpsed - donning a long-sleeved, biscotti-beige thermal and dark, pine-green pants. Hermione wanted to pull her hand through his hair, not let him ignore her.

"I forgive you," she replied. "It's no bother but… I can't just  _forget_  it."

"What, exactly…? What exactly can't you forget about it?" he questioned tentatively, not moving from his position.

"Well I, uh… all of it, I think. I mean,  _honestly_? Who  _are_  you talking to Draco Malfoy? How could  _I_  have  _forgotten_  anything you'd said or done? My memory  _is_  flawless," she over-exaggerated each of her words, asserting her point to him with perfect diction. "And  _you_ ," she glared at him. "I-I… believe it or not, I  _am_  worried about you, and… I know you're up to something," she said boldly but skirted around the topic when his eyes glinted with unsheathed venom. "Why  _do_  you like green apples so much?" she asked him with pure agitation, like it was her biggest pet-peeve. She'd seen him eat them over the last few months like a child who wanted his special candy.

"What the - what does  _that_  have to do with anything?" he gawked, looking over at the mentioned fruit. It was idly sitting where he left it. He peered back at her, flabbergasted but she wasn't answering him. "What does it matter if I like apples? You ask  _too_  many questions Granger," he stood from where he'd been kneeling and loomed over her threateningly. This time however, Hermione had enough wits about her to stare right back, valiantly holding her back up straight with her chest puffed out. "I'm not up to anything. You need to let that go." Draco picked up his bag and turned, preparing to make his escape.

"I don't think that's true, seeing as how you've evaded the topic and are  _running_  away from me," she threw in before he could leave and abruptly he clutched at his heart, almost falling over from what she'd said. Hermione couldn't know what that just did to him, how could she? She had no idea of the nightmares that still haunted him each night, not the faintest clue how guilty he felt for abandoning her over and over again, no matter that it wasn't reality.

Draco let her end their conversation with that, walking around the corner and back to his business. Right then, they'd both never felt so alone.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 _March 5_ _th_ _, 1997: Gryffindor Tower - Hogwarts Castle_

Hermione yawned as she entered through the portrait of the Fat-Lady. She tried not to remember how much she loathed trudging into the Gryffindor Common Room lately, perpetually scared of spotting Ronald with his girlfriend but tonight she was so tired, and it was  _late_. After rounds she'd stayed for a hot cup of tea and a study session in the Prefect's Lounge with Sue Li, one of the Ravenclaw Prefects in her year. They'd gone over their notes diligently and after a while she'd realized it was eleven-thirty.

She shuffled quietly into the interior of the Lion's Den to find it darker in there than she thought it'd be. The kindling in the fire had diminished to a soft, orange glow and all it illuminated was the boy with sable-black hair who was sprawled out listlessly over the red couch. Harry was the only one in there with her, thank Godric, and he was snoring lightly as he dreamt. Hermione started retreating to the Girl's dormitory but halted, discovering that laying there open on Harry's stomach was the Marauder's Map.

Despite being utterly exhausted she was filled with intrigue. She tip-toed to her best friend as soundlessly as she could. When she came upon him she did her best to very stealthily, very slowly drag the creased up parchment out from under his hands. Luckily her efforts were a success as Harry lolled his head to its side on the pillow but did not awaken.

Hermione sat down in the lounge chair adjacent to the couch and began exploring the charmed "device". Funnily enough, no sooner than she'd gotten comfortable she shot back up in her seat. Underneath his tiny footprints was the name Draco Malfoy and he seemed to be journeying down the seventh-floor corridor. Wow, all the way up there? What for, and on a weeknight at this hour? Then his little shoes stopped in front of a wall and faded away, disappearing from the page entirely.

 _Huh_!? Oh yeah, the Room of Requirement… right.

Should she wake up Harry? Yes or…

The Gryffindor lioness left her bag on the chair for safe-keeping, making sure she had her wand and the confidential contraband, deliberately stealing from the Boy-Who-Kept-On-Living. Hermione needed it to make sure Draco didn't leave before she got there. She discreetly dashed back out the entrance of the common room without making any ruckus, determination driving her spirit.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

_The Room of Requirement - Hogwarts Castle_

Draco set his unbitten apple on the small shelf inside the Vanishing Cabinet and gently closed its rickety door. He held out his ten-inch, hawthorn wand and aimed it well.

" _Harmonia Nectere Passus_ ," he chanted, urging the cabinet to do his bidding.

After a few minutes of patiently waiting and repeating the spell, the magic worked. When he looked inside he found his fruit, but once intact now tarnished with a big bite, dead-center. It was a message that the man who owned this cabinet's twin at Borgin and Burke's had successfully received the magical telegram. Draco was  _thrilled_.

Without warning, there was a commotion in the distance as he heard the main door open and then shut… someone had just come in. He did  _not_  anticipate this. Whoever it was, they were about to intrude on his arrangements for the conspiracy and he had to erase the evidence. He had to  _now_. Draco deserted the apple and covered the cabinet with the huge sheet that generally went over it.

Quietly as he could he slithered in between the rows and stacks of artifacts, books and furniture but as he traversed through the oceans of inanimate (mostly) props he spied the distinctive, curly-haired Gryffindor headed his way. She spotted him immediately and was proceeding by a leaning tower of junk when all of a sudden the whole thing started toppling over like an avalanche.

Five spindled, dining chairs were catapulting right for her. Hermione tried to run but wasn't going to make it. She had no time to wield her wand, so she ducked, bracing for impact. With acute agility Draco's wand raised. " _Arresto Momento Duo_ ," he ordered clearly, and loud. It was a stronger variation of the incantation  _Arresto Momentum_. Gratefully, all of the deadly chairs froze right where they were in mid-air, giving her time to flee from the floating bundle. When she was out of the way, Draco ended the spell and they crashed to the ground in a heaping pile of woodwork.

"You just - you just saved my  _life_ ," she was breathing deeply, amazed.

"Never mind that," he spat, bolting angrily to her. "What are you doing here?"

"I-I…" the courage she felt before was dwindling as she gazed into his pensive, depression-filled eyes.

He noticed she was holding the Marauder's Map and he snatched it from her as fast a bullet. "What's this?" he asked. Luckily, she'd closed it up and tapped her Vine-wood wand to it saying, " _Mischief Managed_ ," previous to coming into the magical room.

"It's nothing… just spare parchment, is all," she answered, trying to grab it back from him but he held it above and she was unable to reach.

"Ah riiight," he drawled, scanning the blank papers for any clues as she leapt up, attempting to grasp it from his hands. "And you're just carrying it around for no reason, makes sense."

Hermione grew frustrated, stomping her foot in protest. "I'm not sure why  _I'm_  the one being interrogated, when you're the one in here - up to  _no good_ ," she couldn't help but smirk, inwardly laughing to herself as she spoke the words from the incantation for the map itself. She felt  _wicked_. If only he knew how sassy she was really being.

"Now, you don't know that Granger," he threw the parchment back to her gruffly. "I want you to tell me why you followed me here."

"I didn't follow you, I…"

"I don't believe you," he stepped towards her and she took a step away but he was too tall, his strides too long and he was standing over her again. This was something he seemed to do whenever he could. Draco wanted to demonstrate to her who ran the show, that he was the  _boss_. "You know more than you're saying,  _don't_  you?" His voice was guttural and dark as it resonated scratchily from inside his throat. "What  _do_  you know then, huh?" in a rage he bent forward, clutching at the front of her black robes ferociously and she cried out in terror. "Have you cursed me, witch!?" he snarled, his teeth sharply glinting like a feral wolf. "Did you put these fucking  _visions_  in my head, these vivid images of them doing those sickening, cruel things to you?"

This was extremely disconcerting to her. Hermione didn't know what he was talking about. She thrashed around as he gripped her, lifting her up to his chest so she was directly in his face. She couldn't reach the ground and she wailed out, her stamina depleting at a rapid rate as she dangled. "Wh-what are you -"

"I'm tormented  _every_  night… was it you this whole time?" Draco had a dumbfounded expression, as if a light-bulb went off in his brain, like he'd finally figured out a great mystery.

"Malfoy,  _please_ … put me down. I have no  _idea_  what you're going on about," she was quivering, holding onto the material of the white shirt on his arms. She could feel his breath on her nose as he studied her every move. Draco was growing increasingly more paranoid.

"No! Tell me why Granger," he was growling as he clenched his jaw and shook her violently. "Tell me! What - The - Fuck - Is - Going - On!" With that he released her and she fell to the floor, crying in agony. Draco was  _humiliated_ , delusional and abashed at his own insanity. He gazed at his hands, unable to believe he'd actually used them to cause her harm. "I don't understand what's happening to me…" He was losing it.

Hermione glared up at him with a new tenacity, even though she was shook to the core. Draco gaped down at her, in total disbelief. He'd never seen such valor and grit in a girl. "The  _nerve_ …" she stood, dusting off her skirt and cloak. Simultaneously she reached for her wand and pointed it at his heart. "I should hex you into  _oblivion_!" she hissed but kept her cool. He looked incredibly put out, like he was on the brink of madness. "I can't give you an answer because it… it's not my fault. I swear to you, I'm not the one putting visions in your head." She backed away past the bundle of chairs, her wand never leaving the target. "Perhaps Draco Malfoy, it is your own guilty conscious that is playing tricks on you."

The door to the Room of Requirement opened, then it shut and Hermione Granger was gone. What she'd said was echoing in his ears for eternity and Draco wasn't sure how long he stood there. It felt like hours before he descended to the dungeons and gulped a shot of Dreamless Sleep from a vial. He passed out for once and had no horrific nightmares.

Also, he didn't go to any of his classes the next day… or the day after that.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 _August 27_ _th_ _, 1997: the Granger's Residence - Hampstead, England_

It was a Monday at about six forty-five, early in the evening and Hermione would be eighteen in the upcoming weeks. She was currently standing within the archway between the dining quarters and the sitting room, holding her wand. Hugo and Roselyn Granger, her muggle parents were comfortable on the couch watching the telly. Showcased was a series about the beautiful homes on real estate in sunny Australia and the two of them seemed very chipper about it, chatting animatedly with interest.

Hermione's eyes glinted, about to cry as she stared upon the framed photographs of them all together. So many happy memories they shared.  _How_  could she make them forget? She remembered what Alastor Moody always used to say - " _Constant Vigilance_!" and she raised her wand. For a moment, the Gryffindor wished she'd never known magic.

"Darling, wouldn't it be  _splendid_?" Hugo exclaimed elatedly. "We could get a condo by the beach, with a sun-room, and a loft! Wouldn't you just love that, Rose? You always said -"

"I  _always_  said we should buy ourselves a place like that," she was chuckling, purely mirthful and she threw her arm around his shoulders, planting a large kiss on his temple. "Oh Hugo," she cooed but even though she was excited she felt reluctant.

Hermione took this as her only chance and whispered the dreaded spell, the tears spilling over down her cheeks. " _Obliviate_ ,"

"Do you think we really should? What about… uh, wait. What was I saying?" she trailed off, her sight clouded over in mist. The man in her embrace searched for what he wanted to say. His eyes were translucent white as his thoughts escaped him against his will, his mind miles away.

Neither of them noticed the pictures sitting on the table and hung up on the walls altered, the objects in rooms transfigured or disappeared. With it all the memory of their daughter faded from their lives. For how long she'd be estranged from them, Hermione wasn't positive. A good while, probably… maybe even forever.

Then just like that, the husband snapped back to the present and lovingly looked at his wife. "Exactly, love. There's nothing holding us back, is there Monica?" The woman peered at him in brief confusion but then she smiled warmly.

"That's quite true, Wendell my sweet." they were laughing like school children. "Let's look into it after dinner!"

Hermione was a mouse as she silently ambled from the room, through the dining area, into the kitchen and out the back door where her bags were waiting. She was not a school-girl anymore, no. She wouldn't see Hogwarts again, and soon she'd be on the run, seeking ways to destroy the Horcruxes and hunting the rest for an unknown amount of time.

Instead of immediately Apparating, she took a walk around the block. She had to mourn her parents memories for a few minutes, let herself grieve over the loss. At least they were safe. After a while, she couldn't help but think about Malfoy and she wondered what he must be doing right now. Most likely something she'd never fathom. They hadn't spoken after that fateful night in the Room of Requirement. Hermione hadn't wanted to spare him even a word, completely icing him out during classes and such, not that he'd approach her or anything. He'd only glance at her with regret and longing and she'd turn her nose in the air, looking away and concentrating on her studies.

She didn't realize… why couldn't she have had some premonition about the Battle of the Astronomy Tower at the end of term? Why didn't she see the death of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore coming? The poor man, she… Hermione would really miss him. Damn that Severus Snape, the  _traitorous_   _scum_.

Hermione was the one with regret and longing now. If only she'd have sought him out, would Draco have come around and eventually surrendered? Would she have actually had the ability to change things? What if… what if they had gotten to be friendly with each other and Hermione convinced him to ask Dumbledore for help? None of it would have happened. She wouldn't have had to wipe the memory of herself from her parent's so cruelly, everything would be different. If she had only been more kind to him, would it have shifted the tide of the War?

Ugh, she really needed to stop berating herself with these questions. There was nothing she could do about any of it but it was true… she still had Harry thank goodness, and Ronald was back in the picture. He and Lavender had broken off their relationship long ago and he'd rectified his betrayal but Hermione wasn't interested in Ron at all like she once was. To her, he was only a close brother and she found herself lying awake at night, irritated and ashamed over the desire she felt for a specific silver-haired  _Death Eater_.

" _Fuck_  it all," she seethed, turning on the spot and Apparated. Hermione  _never_  got what she wanted, did she?

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 _April 16t_ _h_ _, 1998: Godtholbekken River - Hardangervidda nasjonalpark, Norway_

The Golden Trio had been roaming Northern Europe for months, doing their best to survive and not be found. They'd avoided the Forest of Dean at all costs after hearing about the deaths of Dean Thomas among others. At that moment, they were looking for a place to sleep for the night somewhere in Scandinavia by a mighty body of water. They were in a desolate part of the country, which helped. It wouldn't do to be spotted by any muggles and very few lived in these parts. They walked along the riverside, desperate to find a good clearing to make camp. The forest was too dense here. If they wanted to be within the trees, they'd have to keep moving.

About a month and a half ago, they'd overheard some news on the radio they listened to. All of their friends and family were fine as far as they knew, but Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had been killed. It was unsure why, or who'd done them in but Harry suspected it was Voldemort himself. There was no word on the whereabouts of Draco Malfoy, although it was heard he'd joined Fenrir Greyback and the Snatchers.

These Snatchers were a mangy lot, a motley crew of bounty hunters made up mostly of criminals and rapists. Fenrir Greyback, the monstrous werewolf was their leader as well as a brute named Scabior, who was a flea-bitten, sleazy chap. Hermione already had the displeasure of "meeting" him after Ronald had left her and Harry over a stupid argument. She'd been alone in the woods and heard people coming so she casted the Disillusionment Charm, making herself blend into her surroundings. It worked too, he hadn't seen her as he stood right in bloody front of her… but he smelled her. Oh yes that's right, he  _definitely_  got himself a good whiff and it nauseated her to think about how much he liked it. The men he was with had called for him to come back and that is how she learned of his name.

The worst part of her time on the run was how she lost her wand during her and Harry's struggle with Voldemort's reticulated-python at Godric's Hollow. They couldn't very well have gone back for it and they had to leave it behind.

After Ronald returned to his friends, they'd hastily fled England and now here they were.

Hermione was still mildly furious with the youngest Weasley brother for leaving them, but was taking it easy on him for now. She hadn't wanted to bring it up again and she honestly didn't have it in her to waste her energy on such petty issues. Plus, she was super fucking pissed about her wand but that hadn't been Ron's fault directly. Hermione would attempt to go back for it someday. Until then, she  _really_  needed a backup.

"Damnit, I miss Fred and George, the gits. I miss everybody." Ron lamented, lazily kicking a stone into the water.

"Me too," replied Harry. "I really miss Ginny."

Hermione took a steady breath. "Likewise," she said and pointed to an open pathway into the trees. "I see a clearing ahead. Come on, we've lost a lot of daylight and we have so much to do." The two young men began following her over the dirt and rocks.

Ron looked over to Harry. "I'm trying to think of what another Horcrux might be," he asked in an inquisitive manner.

"Voldemort's a pretty transparent mother fucker," Harry began. "I'm sure we'll stumble upon something here sooner or later but yeah, I've been thinking of what and where the others are as well, and -"

Out of nowhere, misty black apparitions were advancing on them. "No!" Hermione shrieked. It was too late as she saw the majority of the Snatchers surround Harry and Ron. A few others began coming after her so she started running to the path she saw earlier.

Hermione rushed through the clearing where their camp would have been and straight into the dense forestry. She didn't let up on her momentum, bounding this way and that for what was likely about ten minutes. She thought she'd eluded them in the foliage when a body barreled into her, knocking both parties to the ground. The tall grass enveloped her where she lay pinned on her back and she couldn't see anything except the grey-blue eyes of the person that held her down.

However, they were not the pair of eyes she'd pathetically hoped for though, not the grey-blues she was used to. These orbs were a striking, smoky pewter hue with slitting gleams of cobalt and Hermione wished for the arctic-aqua rain-clouds of her school days. This was Scabior, and he was wearing her damnable pink scarf she'd left hanging on a tree in the Forest of Dean in hopes Ron would find it.

The Snatcher's forearm pressed her collarbone in firmly while his other snaked its way to her hip. He tightly clasped his fingers into the side of her bum through her jeans, grounding into her with his groin from above. She whimpered in misery, pleading for him to stop.

"Not now poppet," his breath was rank and he leaned in, rolling his nose over the skin of her chin. Then he went closer and inhaled the space under her ear, shuddering in response to her scent. " _Fuck_  you smell  _so_  good," he slid his slimy tongue along her throat, stopping at her pulse-point and placing his wet mouth there in a revolting, vulgar kiss. Hermione squirmed below him, writhing and fighting to get him off but he was too strong. She screamed for help. "No one's going to hear us beautiful," he told her, his expression devious with a sadistic smile plastered on his face. "I've put the Muffliato spell on us. Isn't that fantastic?"

" _Lovely_ ," Hermione hurled a wad of spit in his face. He glowered at her evilly, wiping off the saliva with his sleeve and smacked her. Then he roughly yanked her face to look at him again.

"Ooh, you're going to like what I do to you," Scabior re-positioned himself between her legs and thrust against her. His hand made its way to her breast, giving it a harsh squeeze that was painful and made Hermione yelp out. "Smaller tits, just how I like 'em," He was tweaking her nipple and she felt his erection grow longer and harder against her thigh as he relentlessly gyrated himself into her. "You'll deny it at first but once I'm through with you you'll be  _begging_  me to do it again," he huffed and puffed. "Now let's get these ridiculous pants off you. I'm not patient enough," he heaved a great sigh, beginning with her buttons. "And I don't want to have to wait until we bring you back. I'll just hide us with the Disillusionment Charm like you  _so_   _cleverly_  did… when I could smell you right there. Gods, I could just -" he slowly stuck his tongue between her lips and inside, making contact with a forced kiss. Hermione started to cry. Scabior was frenching her on the mouth, uncaring of her hot tears as he got her denim unfastened. He was pulling them down her thighs when by some miracle the beast was ripped from her and thrown to the side.

Hermione stayed where she was, looking up to her savior to discover a man in a hooded black cloak. She couldn't see his face because he was wearing a Death Eater's mask - one with an intricate-design etched into it. The Gryffindor recognized this mask to belong to Lucius Malfoy... but he was dead, so who was this? Was it... could it be? She didn't fight it as he leapt down and picked her up bridal-style. She was  _so_  tired and she wouldn't be able to remember if she had passed out or fainted while her captor Apparated them to safety.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 **AN** : Okay, there we have it. What do you all think so far? Obviously, I've taken a lot of Creative Liberties so please keep that in mind. Did you notice Harry setting off the Taboo on Voldemort's name in the last scene like I mentioned in the beginning? I can't wait to start writing Part Three! I'm pretty sure I'm starting out the next scene from Draco's POV to explain a bit of backstory on what happened the entire year they haven't seen each other. As usual - if you like this, please follow and fave! I'll be updating shortly so be on the look-out. Cheers to you, loves :0)


	3. Part Three

**AN** : Okay, woo! So, here we go. This is the third installment of the Oblivion: The Forbidden Fruit series, yet I must tell you that it won’t be the last like I’d previously planned. No biggie though, right? It’ll be better that it’s longer! I had so much more I had to explain. I’m having a great time writing this. 

Keep in mind I am _not_ going by the canon time-frame, so I don’t want to hear shit about it. I bend the characters and locations to my will as I see fit - Non-canon/AUs for life, bitches.

 **Warning** : there are Character Deaths in this chapter.

**Oblivion: The Forbidden Fruit  
Part Three**

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

_April 9th, 1997: the Dungeons - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scottish Highlands_

Outside the warm walls of the private, magical academy there raged an unbridled, torrential hammering of wind and rain. The mossy, misted atmosphere was cold and angry as lightning violently cut through the darkened sky. Thunder boomed, shaking the very ground and all in all, it was a dreary mid-morning for the students at Hogwarts - especially for Draco Malfoy. He gloomily sat before his cauldron during double Potions class, not paying a lick of attention to Professor Horace Slughorn drone on about their lesson. They were readying themselves to brew the Oculus Potion, which was an elixir that brings back the drinker’s sight and senses, as well as counters the effects of the Conjunctivitis Curse.

Draco was more depressed than he’d ever been, and furious with himself. The storm that was wailing and blustering about above mirrored the turbulent despondency within the Slytherin. He’d been absolutely beside himself since that night with Granger in the Room of Hidden Things, pissed he went too far. So was she, he knew it. She couldn’t stand him now.

There she was - sitting next to that damnable Harry Potter. From his perspective across the room, Draco could see she was listening to the lecture intently, waiting for the go ahead to get her materials. She hadn’t spared him a glance the entire class, already immersed in her old routine where she did her best to ignore that he existed. He longed more than anything to have what it took to apologize to her. That was no use though, after already shouting at her twice now (not counting the multiple years he bullied her), and shaking her like he was some kind of maniac, well… it was unlikely she’d allow him to speak to her again.

For a while, Draco convinced himself it was all for the best but as the days crept by he slowly realized he really missed something, rather _someone_ he’d never even had. There was something between them. It was so close, right there scratching under the surface and if he could only get to it… he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to lose her, and he was still having night terrors. 

With a chipper sigh, Slughorn finally nestled into his chair and waved them off. Hermione quickly stood and scurried away to go get the ingredients with most of the others. Draco sat and waited until there was more room to look for what he needed, also avoiding any awkward or intense encounters. He noticed that Ron Weasley and Lavender Brown stayed behind too while the first wave of students finished up. He was surprised it seemed Granger hadn’t told Potter at least, about what happened. Surely, it had left Draco looking very suspicious and not only that: he’d roughed her up and caused her pain. That was worse than what Weasley did to her, in his own opinion.

Gryffindor’s Princess was skipping back to her cauldron, a hop in her step but as she neared the table she caught the flicker of contrite sorrow in Draco’s silver eyes and momentarily stopped in her tracks. A strange sensation she didn’t understand overcame her and for a second she was lost in his stare. He had to fight back his instinctual desire to want to jump up to her and bare his soul, explain everything. He wanted to ask for help - _real_ help, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t that simple. It was too late. Yes, Draco sought in her a companion, romantic preferably and he could have gotten closer to achieving that but he’d fucked it up, _royally_.

Remembering her deep anguish, Hermione blinked out of her stupor and her usually wholesome, chocolate-fawn gaze sliced into him with a burning pestilence. Forgetting him with all her might she began organizing and preparing to brew the potion.

Slytherin’s Prince started walking to the ingredients shelves, past Granger’s table and Potter glared at him with vindictive spite. As if he suddenly recalled his own paranoia, the raven-haired wizard watched him in his peripherals for the remainder of the period.

He had never once been the type of person to think in such ways but Draco felt that on this day, he truly hated himself. Why couldn’t he have had a normal life? He wished he could have just chosen that life, should have grasped it between his fingers and never let go but he would have been betraying his family. What kind of son would he be had he rocked the proverbial pureblood boat?

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

_May 1st, 1997: the Courtyard - Hogwarts Castle_

  
Gratefully, the rain had let up after pouring for a straight month. It was a pleasant, late afternoon and Hermione was outside under a large tree, sitting on one of the stone benches. There was a heavy book resting in her lap as she took a small break from her reading and peered up to the beautiful blue sky. Wispy, white clouds weaved across the heavens, the sunshine rays beaming through and lighting up the surrounding earth. She could feel the warmth, even from her place in the shade and as the wind danced through her hair like a light breeze she noticed a figure approaching.

It was Ronald, sheepishly sweeping the front of his cardinal-red mop from his hazel-blue eyes as he sat beside her. They’d made up with each other two days ago, a week after his break-up with Lavender. The girl was a menace because she hadn’t wanted to believe he was serious and wouldn’t leave him alone. Eventually, the brief age of Won-Won and Lav-Lav came to a swift close when Ron finally stood up for himself and banished her away for good. Since then the blonde Gryffindor had receded to the background, letting him go and minding her own business.

Hermione had forgiven him after laughing from the sidelines for a bit, gleefully mocking his poor life choices. He’d wistfully smiled at her, unshed tears brimming at his vision and told her he’d agreed she was right. Her heart melted, and her ability to stay mad at him faltered. She understood he was still the Ron she cared for. They’d been through so much together; he was still her best-friend. She always did have too big a soft spot for the youngest Weasley brother. 

“What are you reading now, ‘Mione?” he asked her softly. “Same book as before?” He was referring to the text-book she’d had in front of her at lunch. Sometimes she liked to study while she ate - a proper expert of multitasking.

“No,” she marked her page, closing it and showed him the cover. “Les Miserables,” she spoke the French phrase and he squinted at the daunting tome in confusion.  
  
“What was it..?”

“It’s the title of the book, see? _Les Miserables_ , it means: wretched, or the miserable.”

“Blimey, well that sounds sort of sad, doesn’t it?” he responded. She snickered at his predictable statement.

“It’s… it’s not a light read. It’s wordy and complicated,” she explained. “You’d hate it - _probably,_ but it’s not _all_ sad. It’s a made up story about the struggles of different people during the muggle French Revolution. It can be fascinating actually, and quite moving.”

Ron was chuckling merrily, definitely chuckling _at_ her. He gestured to their surroundings. “It’s a gorgeous day and you’re bloody reading.” 

“I’m _outside_ , aren’t I?” 

“You could read anytime! You’re supposed to save a book like _that_ for the rainy days,” he said with conviction, as if he’d heard that somewhere before.

“That’s not necessarily true,”

He poked a finger at the hard-cover binding. “I mean, _look_ at it! It’s like a million pages!” He grabbed it from her and flipped it open, staring down at it for a moment. “I don’t even understand barely half these words,” he whined dramatically. Now it was Hermione’s turn to laugh at him and her head tilted back in joyful reverie. Ron looked back at her, grinning like mad.

“Give me _that_ ,” she snatched it back from him in a flash, checking that her marker had stayed. “I already finished it once ages ago and I’ll have you know, I wasn’t _really_ reading it. I was caught up admiring the weather - exactly what you were worried I _wasn’t_ doing.”

“Hermione Granger,” Ronald breathed and threw his arm around her shoulders. She flinched slightly from the unexpected contact, her book almost flying from her hands. Although she felt mildly uncomfortable from his touch her emotional wounds had, for the most part healed. “The most gifted arguer there ever was,” he gushed dazedly, wiping away a strand of her hair and then he gave her a small peck on the forehead.

Hermione blushed from his brazen affection, but not because she was yearning for more. The pink flush in her cheeks had emerged from feeling embarrassed. She wasn’t certain how Ron felt about her after everything, but she was hoping they could simply remain close friends. The epiphany that she no longer felt for him how she did before was setting in and she had to admit that it stung a little. 

Once upon a time, she foolishly thought Ronald Weasley might be the one but it turned out that he wasn’t and then, out of the blinding white fog came a devastatingly handsome temptation unlike any she’d known. Then just like before, those fanciful notions were ripped to shreds in a brutal instant and now Hermione would forever have a problem trusting men with the pieces of her broken heart.

“Thanks,” she replied. “My dad always told me I would have made a great lawyer.”  
  
Unbeknownst to the two Gryffindors, a presence had been lurking in the shadows behind them. A shock of silver hair glinted through the corridor but he was tucked around the bend, hidden from view. The Prince of Slytherin overheard the entire conversation. He’d previously been standing there as he debated with himself whether or not he was going to confront Granger upon seeing her relaxing there in the Courtyard. However, any chances he had were dashed when Weaslebee appeared out of nowhere. 

Nevertheless, he was impressed by Granger’s knowledge of something that had to do with France considering it’s where his ancestor’s blood originated - not that he knew much of the muggle affairs she’d mentioned, of course. Also he could speak fluent French (required of the members of the Malfoy lineage), and felt delight in his bones at her correct, fluid pronunciation of the book’s foreign title.

Weasley must have been impressed too, because he flung a clumsy limb over her and proceeded to kiss her on the face. This infuriated Draco but Granger didn’t exactly seem to be enthralled about the uncouth ginger’s attentions. It was evident in her body language.

His eyes followed the two as they got up from the bench and trekked in the opposite direction. Damn it all. He slammed his fist against the solid, stone wall in frustration and felt totally unaffected by the excruciating throbbing in his knuckles.  

Yet another opportunity missed.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~- 

 _June 29th, 1997: the Great Hall - Hogwarts Castle_  

Everyone was on edge; there was something in the air that felt eerie, that felt out of place. Hermione ate her dinner in silence, anxiously worried about Harry. After slurping some of the Felix Felicis - the Luck Potion - he’d disappeared, leaving Gryffindor Tower in search of Slughorn and his untampered memory... she hoped anyway. That had been a great while ago, and if he didn’t return soon she’d get increasingly more worry-ridden. So far, Slughorn, Hagrid and Dumbledore were the most notable absences. Harry had said he was going down to Hagrid’s at first, which was incredibly disconcerting. He had a job to do while under the potion’s affects and the spell wouldn’t last more than three or so hours, factoring in the amount he consumed. 

That had been… she glanced up at the clock. Harry had left to find Slughorn - or go to Hagrid’s, whatever - approximately two and a half hours ago. It was pretty much twilight now, the sun gradually setting below the horizon. The phenomena casted entrancing shades of orange, red, purple and dark-blue across the shifting cosmos. Soon, the fleeting dusk retreated away and as the obsidian darkness swept over the rolling hills of the Highlands, Hermione inspected which Lunar Phase it was.

That night, there was a New Moon which meant it was completely covered by the Earth’s shadow, practically making the craterous moon invisible. Its usual mellow illumination was blocked out and the only celestial objects lighting up the navy-black sky were the tiny, twinkling dots splattered throughout. As spectacular as the sea of stars was, it did little to stop Hogwarts from being consumed by the dark.

Hermione swallowed her last bite of potatoes mashed, cleaning her plate. She took a gulp of her juice and as she finished it off she dared to peek at the Slytherin table. She sighed, refilling her cup. Malfoy wasn’t there. She found herself really wanting to talk to him. The term was quickly coming to a close.  
  
It was sad - for at that point, Hermione couldn’t have known she’d not get to see or speak with him one last time like she would have liked to. It wouldn’t be much longer now before their worlds would be leveled to rubble.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

_October 31st, 1997: Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England_

If Draco Malfoy were a muggle, he was pretty certain the expression he’d use in a situation such as this would be: you _can’t_ make this shit up.

It was All Hallow’s Eve on a Friday at his family’s ancestral estate - where the Dark Lord still resided and reigned supreme. If you’d believe it, they were currently hosting an extravagant ball on Voldemort’s orders. He wanted to show Wizarding Britain how civil and behaved his supremacist followers could be when they weren’t butchering the inferior. Nobody was wearing a costume and yet Draco was sure that if a muggle _had_ happened to walk in (which would be a very unfortunate place for the poor soul to be) they’d strongly disagree, considering everyone was donning their most sophisticated dress-robes and wore gaudy, eye-wear and masks. It was a masquerade, of sorts.  

There were two musicians - a man who played somber, medieval tunes from the strings of his wooden lute and a woman who deftly plucked and prodded at the finer twines of her gigantic, antique harp. Through the mystifying organum of sounds, they emitted old-fashioned songs that whisked the attendants away to feeling like they were living in a long-lost era. In spite of the somewhat appealing music, Draco thought the combination of the melancholy ensemble and the gothic, soul-suckers infiltrating his home was just plain _creepy_.

The Malfoy heir’s long-term Slytherin pals were invited to the special occasion, having been allowed to leave Hogwarts and visit the Manor for the weekend. Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott stood to his right chatting animatedly with one another, every now and again engaging their fair-haired friend in lively conversation. The Prince wasn’t having it tonight though. He was in a terrible mood, as usual.

Straight ahead, Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe - chunks of portly pudge that they were - together drank their alcoholic beverages idly with their Death Eater fathers. The four of them were in a daze, blankly staring around the room and looking utterly thick-headed. They were all dumb as rocks. Draco definitely wasn’t going over _there_. 

Pansy Parkinson twittered about with Daphne Greengrass to his left. Both prim and proper ladies were the epitome of refined, pureblood witches. Draco couldn’t deny that Pansy - the _slag_ \- had rather grown into herself. The once, overly pug-nosed features of her stuck-up face somehow suited the rest of her now. Her long, ebony-black tresses were sleek and shiny in her elegant, over-the-shoulder look. 

Daphne had always been an attractive girl, but behind her emerald eyes and perfectly styled, honey-blonde locks you could easily see her shallow, lack-luster personality. Her character held no redeeming qualities or tangible substance. Neither of them did, matter of fact. He hated having to hide from them his absence of interest, to pretend their boring, boorish banter didn’t sound like a couple of vapid, unremarkable hens squatting out eggs in their chicken coop. They were the same as every other second-rate, self-absorbed bint who made the mistake of lusting after him.

That is, there was _one_ witch he could think of that wasn’t like any he’d ever met, one who wasn’t a desperate cow. That specific witch perpetually haunted him even still, in his waking life _and_ his nightmares. He was glad for his elaborate mask covering the dark circles and sunken cheeks beneath his eyes. His friends would no doubt have something to say, and he couldn’t tell for sure if they took notice to his worsening condition or not. Regardless, he wanted to keep it to himself. The last thing he needed was for them to ask questions or coddle him about his well-being, most especially with the Dark Lord so near in the vicinity.

He hadn’t yet made his grand entrance for the evening, the Dark Lord. The half-drunken crowd was buzzing with nervous-excitement as they meandered and mingled with one another. Draco had a few more moments to mope and his mind slipped right back to Hermione Granger: the woman he wasn’t supposed to love.

The last time he’d seen her, he didn’t realize it would be the last time. They hadn’t even spoken since early March, when she’d walked in on him as he’d strategized in the Room of Requirement. If he’d known he wouldn’t get another chance, Draco would have made much more of an effort.

The fucking irony of it all, he thought. He’d been planning to get his wits about him and finally approach her at the end of June, the morning prior to the Battle of the Astronomy Tower. Unfortunately, he’d had far too much to do and not nearly enough time.

Draco had almost done it, killed the Headmaster… but not really. Severus Snape assassinated Albus Dumbledore in his stead. Besides inheriting the reputation amongst his colleagues as a spineless, arrogant child, Draco was by some miracle still alive. Voldemort thought him to be amusingly pathetic, but potentially useful nonetheless. Thus, his life was spared, for now anyway.

The Slytherin Prince grew ever more sullen as he then wondered where the Princess of Gryffindor might be right then. He was aware that the infamous Golden Trio was somewhere out there, on the run. Their whereabouts were unknown and recently they’d officially been announced as the most-wanted Undesirables. He prayed that wherever she was, she was protected. He wasn’t sure he could endure witnessing his nightly terrors spring to life - which had gotten far worse since he’d fled the grounds of Hogwarts four months ago.

Now, he was flooded with visions of not only Granger being tortured and raped, but dozens upon dozens of other muggleborns suffering through the same bitter agonies. All he could feel was that this would be the product of his decisions. In a bizarre way, he felt that whatever grotesque outcome came out of the war, it could have been prevented if he’d only reached out for help... whatever happens, it would be _his_ fault. If she died, he wouldn’t be able live with himself. He might as well have been the one to “Avada Kedavra” her with his own _hands_.

It was hopeless.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

_February 22nd, 1998: the Forest of Dean - Ellwood, England_

The worst thing that could have happened - besides a reality where Hermione Granger’s lifeless body lay battered and bruised before him - fucking happened.

That abhorrent, no-nosed, snake-mouthed _freak_ …

Unless ordered otherwise, just like a cult: every seven days all of the Death Eaters as well as each Snatcher, loyalist and follower gather at Malfoy Manor precisely at midnight. There, they debate and converse with each other about any important issues. Their wicked leader keenly monitors their movements and words, adding in his own soliloquy when he feels so inclined. Typically, these discussions were painstakingly long and drawn-out.

Most who attended the meetings were well-versed in the mind-bending arts of Legilimency and Occlumency. If you knew either one or _both_ you’d automatically have an advantage. Like anything else though, everyone’s proficiency in such magic differed depending on the witch or wizard. Some were better than others in only one of the skills, where there were a handful of them (Draco included) who’d mastered both delving into minds, as well as blocking invasions to their own consciousness.

Draco specifically, could visualize anything he wanted and it became what his invader believed. No one had a clue; it was fucking brilliant. When had he gotten so good at this?

Sometimes it made him want to laugh out loud at how comical it really was, in the most macabre sense. The entire lot of them felt distrustful, even of their closest neighbors and comrades. The paranoia they all shared - combined with a fierce ambition to compete for their beloved Lord’s approval - became a fast recipe for foul-play and violence. As if sky-high from the adrenaline rush of a risky gamble, they were always eager to take part in any disturbing head games. They’d interrogate one another, playing as the Devil’s Advocate and calling each other’s bluffs.

All it took was one tiny slip-up, one careless crack in your polished poker-face and you were either writhing in your bones from the Cruciatus Curse or you weren’t writhing at all, you were just… gone. It was always a battle of wits, and of _lies_.

As he warmed himself by the glowing fire at the Snatcher’s campsite, Draco reflected on what had occurred thrice nights before. It all happened so quickly. 

The poised and reserved Narcissa Malfoy was following orders. Since a mere two months ago, she’d been required to come to the weekly gatherings, despite the fact she wasn’t an official Death Eater. 

Augustus Rookwood, a First-Wizarding War veteran had snickered a comment in Lucius Malfoy’s direction. Lucius had chuckled and agreed, though naturally Rookwood had been interested to know Narcissa’s opinion. The three had known each other for a long time, after all but Narcissa rarely said much in the Dark Lord’s company to begin with. She’d nodded her head, responding to the best of her abilities but then, Bellatrix Lestrange randomly asked her youngest sister a question.

Up until then Draco hadn’t been listening very well, at the time unable to pay attention to the tedious details of the meeting. He regretted this (he was typically more invested in these soirees), as Bellatrix’s husband, Rodolphus clipped about something else that made the air in the room grow stale. Apparently, his aunt and uncle had decided to just then relay to the group about their on-going suspicions that Narcissa was a blood-traitor in secret. 

Mrs. Lestrange declared that Mrs. Malfoy was frequently spotted going to the dungeons when she thought no one was watching. When Bella had first confronted her, Cissy claimed that she wanted to nurture the neglected, broken children in the cells, saying how it was initially her motherly instinct that drove her to take care of the little prisoners. She took care of them _much_ too well, however and did not exclude the other older inmates. They were well-fed, clothed and clean. It didn’t do at all if your prisoners felt comfortable… they were supposed to be terrified for their lives.

It was a moderate offense, not quite enough to warrant a death sentence yet but then, Rodolphus also viciously suggested that Narcissa held no love or respect for the Dark Lord and desperately wished for the Manor to be rid of him. He told them that sooner or later she was liable to betray them all but Draco knew with his whole _soul_ , that it was the other way around. His mother’s own, big sister had stabbed _her_ in the back.

Lucius had first tried to feign agitation at Narcissa but his facial expression grew soft and he began to stutter. He attempted to turn the discussion around but when he looked over to his Master’s reptilian eyes he’d realized he was about to cross a line. He shut his mouth promptly and stepped closer to his wife, lovingly brushing his fingers with hers. This surprised Draco, who was not used to seeing his father so affectionate, nevertheless he remained utterly silent and obedient as he surveyed the scene before him. He could do nothing but remain a bystander among the sidelines, if he wanted to stay alive. He assessed his godfather, Severus Snape to see he bore the same countenance: calm and unaffected, decidedly staying out of the way.  
  
Voldemort - lowlife scum of the heir - was in an unforgiving, impatient mood and demanded Narcissa to reply to the accusation without delay. When she struggled to form the answers, he’d dove into her soul with his conscious and immediately, he felt the fear and disgust that’d been prevalent in her heart. With it he could sense her wavering allegiance, could almost _smell_ her mental defection from the pureblood elitist way of life.

Even the faintest whisper of doubt needed to be squashed like a bug. The doubt floats by like spores on the breeze and it finds an opening, sticking into the ground with definitive purpose. More and more whispers that carry less and less faith in their master, ingrain and fester like seeds in the soil, over-time growing thick roots and spreading sprouts like a wild fungal-fire. If he let it go on, such a thing would _ruin_ him, would destroy everything he’d worked for. There were already so many against him...

Voldemort had no hesitation, no remorse. Narcissa’s life came to an abrupt halt with a firm flick of his wand as he muttered the spell, emotionless as a brick-wall. The bright green light plunged directly into her chest, shooting deadly jolts of lightning through her veins and fully electrocuting her from the inside-out. 

The last thing her gaze settled on was her son; a delicate smile ghosted her lips before her petite frame collapsed to the marble floor. Draco might have run over to her, could have burst into tears but he dared not budge an inch in his chair, having stopped breathing altogether. He wasn’t yet able to fathom that his mother was just murdered for practically no reason. Was he in shock? 

The ugly devil hadn’t even batted a beady, red eye, nor had there been one twitch from the deep-seated grooves etched into his pasty expression. No longer in good conscious, could Draco keep bending the knee to this psycho. He couldn’t continue referring to him as the Dark Lord with that same, dry taste of pride that used to linger on his tongue, no. The evil, manipulative sorcerer truly was the mutinous, malevolent monster that Draco had known he was all along. 

“No!” the Malfoy senior had seethed, losing his sense of propriety and brandishing himself over the unmoving form of his first and only wife. There was his mistake. 

Voldemort bolted to Lucius. “ _You_ …” he hissed through his split tongue with venomous ire. “Have you sympathy for this dissident rat!?” He bellowed, waving to Narcissa’s dead body. Lucius shamefully cowered in fear, getting his long, white-blonde hair to straggly cover the devastation in his eyes. “She was a _traitor_!” Voldemort grabbed him up by his cloak and shoved him back to the ground. “ _Lucius_ … pathetic excuse for a pureblood - you’re life has been a complete _waste_. I can _smell_ your disobedience, your absolute hate for _me_.” He paced around the older Malfoy, his wand at the ready. “You’ve had your chances. I’ve been crossed by your lot for the last time.”  

“Please sire, I beg of you. Don’t kill my _son_.” These were the last words to leave Lucius Malfoy’s lips before he succumbed to Voldemort’s Unforgivable Curse as well, reduced to a crumpled lump of lifelessness.

And it was good, _very_ good that Draco had sharpened his natural gift for Occlumency over the last year. Draco could feel the building pressure behind his eyes right then, that told him Voldemort was sifting through his mind and turning it upside-down where he stood. 

To Voldemort’s logic, if Narcissa Malfoy had been discovered as a blood-traitor and pitiful Lucius had worn out his usefulness then perhaps their only son Draco was just as despicable. He would find out once and for all just how loyal the French Malfoys really were…  

Ruthlessly, old Tom Riddle searched the depths within the Malfoy heir, holding back nothing of his power but… the silver-haired brat hadn’t had anything to hide after all. It seemed his hopes that Draco was genuinely on his side hadn’t been for naught. It appeared there’d been many moments throughout the months where the boy hadn’t understood his mother’s views and was outraged with her as a result, eventually estranging himself from her and choosing to live independently. As for Lucius, he could see that Draco had hated his own father for years. 

Well, this was a promising development. Voldemort hadn’t explored the young Malfoy’s mind in quite some time and could say with confidence that Draco was still on the right side and had perpetually been an elitist. He’d had nothing to worry about with the offspring of the Malfoy’s but this also meant he wanted to put the son to some real work at once.

So that night - after successfully fooling him - Draco joined Fenrir Greyback and the Snatchers to help them carry out the Dark Lord’s bidding. With them he was expected to raid towns and villages, unspeakable acts included. Before he hadn’t had to do too much of that at all, but he’d have to now. He’d have to prove himself and continue to be consistent with his faux loyalty to Voldemort and the Death Eaters. He’d have to be slick as ever, hiding his hate for them. He was doing a great job of it too, shockingly.  Draco hadn’t hesitated for one second when Voldemort asked him if hunting with the Snatcher’s was something that appealed to him. It’d sparked the perfect plan… 

Draco hoped with everything he had that they’d come upon Granger. He knew eventually they had to, right? When they did, he’d bring her to safety and explain to her how he felt. From there, they could put their heads together and compose a way to turn the war around… It was obvious Draco knew a thing or two about the Dark Lord, probably plenty that she and her friends didn’t. They needed someone like him, someone who’d been on the inside.  
  
He warmed his hands, his breath coming out in puffs on the chilly wind. It was going to snow soon. He hadn’t seen Granger in so long… since the end of June, and he hadn’t spoken to her in what had it been, almost a year? Yeah, a year just about. He wondered if when he finally saw her again, if she’d accept him. Would she listen to him and hear what he had to say or would she wish him dead the moment she sees him? Did she ever regret what happened? Had she ever wanted to speak to him as desperately as he wanted to speak to her? 

Draco peered up at the crescent moon in the dark, navy-black sky. He wished to whatever Gods were listening, that he might have the power to sit upon the sliver of crust and gaze out over the expanse of the Earth so he could find her out there, wherever she was. 

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~- 

 _April 10 th, 1998: the Forest of Dean_ 

He found Hermione Granger’s wand. 

Two and a half weeks ago, Severus Snape had ordered his godson to accompany him on a mission, under the authorization of the Dark Lord, of course. Draco had obliged him and they went henceforth to Godric’s Hollow, the birthplace of renowned Hogwarts’ cofounder Godric Gryffindor. 

There, they were to investigate the surroundings of the aftermath and see if there’d been any clues or information left behind. Voldemort surely had done that himself already, seeing as how Potter had been there a while ago but Draco knew Snape found a way to convince him to let them go and search a second time - that way they could have a moment alone to discuss things. 

When they’d got there, Snape led them past the rows of identical houses and straight to the edge of the village. There was an old deteriorated house at the end, its walls and foundations lay half-standing and crumbled to debris. Draco had understood what he was looking at within milliseconds. In front of them sat the sad carcass of the once warm and welcoming home of the budding Potter family. Now it was lessened to nothing more than historical ruins, as well as an eternal crime scene.

He and Snape stood there for several moments, staring intently into the void of the ghost-house. Draco had been in somewhat of a trance, having more and more pieces coming together inside his mind. He was taken aback at himself actually, for in that very instant he genuinely mourned the Potter’s and what life they could have had if it weren’t for Voldemort. For the first time, he found himself to feel real sympathy for his long-term school rival Harry Potter. Draco wished the onyx-haired Gryffindor had grown up to feel the love of his parents like he had.

Damnit, Draco had been so lucky, hadn’t he? Despite everything, that is. He’d been blessed with a mum and a dad who’d loved him dearly, _direly_ and they were prominent influences in his life, he'd always had them around, for the most part. Yes, he was  _so_ lucky but they were gone... Draco had tried his best to do right by them. He’d tried his best…

He found himself choking up, tears welling at his tired, red eyes and without permission they streamed down his cheeks, freezing ice on his skin in the chill of the night gust.

“Draco,” Snape said softly. His godson dared not look at him at first but then after the boy sniffled and wiped his wet face with his sleeves he took the plunge and stared into the dark, ebony orbs of his inducted guardian. “I’m sorry.” He was referring to his parents. Draco said nothing, just gauged Snape’s regretful expression and was astonished when he continued on in his slow drawl. “I'm sure your mother and father would be glad to know you're  _alive_ , and I know you’re already of age but I’ll still be here for you, for… _anything_ you need.” Snape peered back up to the ruins of the old home with a wistful gleam in his gaze and Draco was overcome with a great curiosity. Was there more to Severus than he knew? Did he have some sort of deep connection to the Potters? “I was here, at this very place over eighteen years ago, the very night Lily and James Potter were murdered.”

Well, that answered his question.

Snape barreled on. “But I was… _too_ _late_.” He ground the words out with ferocity, clearly an inner angst that’d been built up for far too long. “I don’t want you to make the same mistake.”

“What do you mean?” Draco clipped right away, confused and bewildered.

“I… don’t know, exactly. Just don’t forget what I’m telling you.”

“Why are you being so cryptic?” he felt offended somewhat. If there was something Snape wanted to tell him then he should spit it out and quit beating around the bush. He wasn’t answering him, probably unsure of what to say. “Are you trying to tell me that… that you actually came here that night to try and save them?”

“Come, let’s move on. There’s nothing left for us to find at this particular location,” as Snape started to walk, Draco stuck behind for a second giving the old house one last look before catching up to his godfather.

“I beg to differ,” he began with a plucky attitude and fell into step beside Snape. “I believe there’s _much_ more I still haven’t discovered, isn’t there? Certain _secret_ things nobody knows, right?” Severus stopped dead in his tracks.

“Now, it is then?” He appeared to ask the air in the night. “Perhaps, now is better than never.” Draco just gaped at him, totally abashed. Snape clutched him by the arm and pulled him along. “Let’s keep moving. We’re almost at Bagshot’s.”

Draco wasn’t even sure what they expected to find there but did as he was told nonetheless. For some strange, unfathomable reason, tonight - and every night since he’d had nightmares about Granger - he’d had a horrid feeling imbedded in his gut. It wrenched and stabbed through his insides, twisting into fiery knots that brought with it the feeling of _impending doom_.

It sounded crazy but it felt like he alone was bringing about the end of the world and after the death of his parents, Draco was filled to the brim with the innate desire to bring about Voldemort’s demise. He realized though, he couldn’t do it by himself. That was why he sought Granger. She must be the answer, the key to all of it. It was indescribable, but he _knew_ it to be true. Yet, if he turned out to be wrong in the end then well, he had a good run and at least he’d done something brave finally.

Severus spoke again. “I didn’t come here that night to save all of them Draco, I…” he couldn’t finish. “Previously, I’d tried to strike a deal with the Dark Lord. I’d pleaded that if he must take the lives of the baby and his father to at least spare the mother,” he paused, waiting for some kind of reaction. “But when I got to the house… I’d found that he indeed did _not_ … it did not go as _anyone_ had hoped.”

The once Prince of Slytherin let that sink in for a moment.

“You loved Lily Potter,” he snickered.

“Yes. I loved Lily Evans,” Snape corrected.

“Huh,” to say Draco was thoroughly intrigued was an _understatement_. He had a thousand more questions.

They made it to the little cottage that had once been Bathilda Bagshot’s dwelling, as well as the place where her great-nephew Gellert Gwindelwald had come to stay many, many decades ago. It too was also decrepit and in shambles he noted as they Apparated to the other side of the main wall, landing in the foyer. The inside of the house was incredibly filthy, thick layers of dust coating the walls, the surfaces - everything. They both had their wands wielded, whispering “ _Lumos_ ,”

Before Draco traipsed up the staircase, he turned to Snape. “So tell me, how _did_ you come to love her? Wasn’t she…” he trailed off.

“A mudblood?” He quirked a dark eyebrow and sent a stern but bemused look in Draco’s direction. “I met her the summer before our first year at Hogwarts. I’ve loved her since that very day.”

“You… still do?” Draco asked him tentatively. Snape chewed his cheek, choosing his words.

“You never stop loving someone Draco, not truly. I believe that maybe, Lily and I… if I wasn’t so stupid back then, if her and I could have been together what if it had changed things?”

Draco didn’t know what to say. He was positively stunned to the core. Not for the first time was he startled by the notion that his destiny was intertwined with another. Was Severus Snape not expelling precisely the same thoughts Draco had been ruminating on? He went up the stairs and began looking around the second level, pondering this new growth of information.

When he’d found a specific room where there seemed to have been a struggle he stepped inside. Immediately, his foot knocked into something that’d been sticking out from underneath the bed and he picked it up.

To his ultimate surprise and _horror_ , there in his hands was Hermione Granger’s wand. There was no mistaking it. The twiggy vine looped around the shaft - he’d recognize it anywhere. She must have lost it during their struggle here with Nagini, he surmised.

“What did you find?” the slithering voice of Snape eased behind him and Draco whipped around, briefly terrified for his well-being. He showed his guardian the vine-wood wand.  The Potion’s Master inhaled. “That’s…”

“ _Her_ wand, yes…” he didn’t want to say her name out-loud in case there happened to be anyone eavesdropping. “It’s just… bizarre,” he said in a daze, twirling it around in his fingers. There was no way this could be a coincidence.

“It is _frightfully_ …” Snape stopped but there was a twinkle in his eyes, one Draco had never seen before. It told him he might know more than he let on. “This certainly feels like it’s no mere accident.”

“I don’t know what it is,” Draco found himself saying abruptly. “But I’m _going_ to find her,” he breathed, tucking her wand in the inner pocket of his robes. “I’m going to find her no matter what.”

“Draco. You mustn’t do anything rash.” Snape admonished. “What do you expect to do if you find her?”

“We’ll see,” he said, straightening out the hood of his black cloak. “Won’t we?” and he shuffled out of the bedroom.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~- 

 **AN** : Alright, that part’s done. Keep a keen eye out for Part Four because I’ll be updating soon. If I don’t wrap things up in the next chapter then I will by the next one, for sure. The upcoming scenes will be when Hermione and Draco finally reunite! Please follow and review! I love to hear from you! Cheers :0)

 


	4. Part Four

**AN** : Hey everyone! I hope you had a great New Year's and such. Another year down! We got this people!

I want to thank all of my followers and favorites, you beautiful people are the greatest! I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. This series is not over and I will be updating again as soon as possible. Get ready for some steamy fluff in this chapter. Love to all :0)

 **Oblivion: The Forbidden Fruit**  
**Part Four**  
-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 _April 16_ _th_ _, 1998: the Forest of Dean - Ellwood, England_

The ex-Slytherin Prince used Hermione Granger's wand to re-light the end of his tobacco cigarette. He'd been dazed, staring off into the distance far away. A few of the other Snatchers had come back from a run. Where they went, he wasn't positive. He hadn't been paying any attention earlier having been completely uninterested in going with them. Upon their return, he'd snapped back to reality and noticed his spliff had gone out. As he drawled in another drag of the grey smog with his mouth, he eyed a particular Snatcher he'd had the misfortune of knowing.

Scabior was his name. Draco did  _not_  like him. Detested in fact, loathed him with a burning passion. He was one of the leaders of the pack, alongside Fenrir Greyback - who Draco was also  _not_  a fan of.

Since Draco had arrived to the camp, he'd noticed something about Scabior, something he almost didn't notice at all… but the moth-eaten git - he'd unashamedly kept sniffing the pink cloth he'd had wrapped around his neck. It didn't take long for Draco to realize the idiot wasn't just wearing a ridiculous accessory. It was a memento, a keepsake. It was Hermione's. He knew, because he'd mentioned it in passing several moons ago.

_Draco was looking upon Scabior with complete revulsion as they all were sitting and drinking by the river. Why in the bloody hell did the man continue to smell that feminine scarf? He didn't understand. Had it been a girl's he'd murdered and kept it to remember? Whose was it?_

" _Oi," began a thick cockney accent. "What_ is _up your twat Malfoy?" Scabior saw he'd been openly staring and felt some kind of way about the full-on sneer plastered on Draco's face._

" _What's with the damned scarf?" he asked him gruffly, yet nonchalant. Scabior sniggered, eyebrows raised. His tangled, mess of brown hair was tied back into a low-tail, and if Draco didn't know any better he'd say this guy looked like something out of the seventeen-hundreds._

" _Lovely thing, 'innit…?" he said, grinning. He slid the punch-colored cloth from his person and spread it over the top of his legs. "Definitely_ never  _giving this bit a Scourgify,"_

" _Yes but," Draco started, trying not to roll his eyes and cleared his throat. "Why is that?" and then he took a sip from the bottle of brandy he'd acquired on a past excursion._

" _It's that beautiful little mudblood creature's. Left it here in the forest she did, tied it round a tree. Probably wanted someone to find it but I found it instead, isn't that something?"_

_Draco felt his own blood run cold and a shiver like a bolt of lightning shooting up his spine. There could really only be one girl he was talking about. "And which mudblood creature is that, I wonder?" he stated sarcastically._

" _See," Scabior clicked his tongue, inhaling sharply and pointed at him, giddy from his own fantasies. "You know the one. Potter's cheeky sidekick," he was smiling, wrapping the rouge scarf back around his neck and then he shut his eyes in bliss, imagining aforementioned creature. "Tiny fit frame, tanned skin… wild curly hair," he opened his eyes again and pumped his fist in the air with conviction. "Her smell is so divine, I… I find myself thinking all the time about how badly I just want to_ taste _her,"_

_Draco wanted to pound the babbling, rude lecher's face in but remembered himself. The Dark Lord would not be pleased if he found out he'd gotten into a fight with one of the others but he certainly would kill Draco if he knew it was because he was standing up for the dignity of the mudblood, Hermione Granger. None of them even knew about the extra wand he had in possession, except for Snape. Withholding such information was a travesty in itself._

" _Riiight," he said slowly, pretending he wasn't fuming with rage. "I-I went to school with her. We were in the same year."_

" _Is that so?" Scabior questioned, totally interested. "Did you bed her?"_

"What _?" Now he was truly offended._

_Scabior shrugged, pouring more firewhiskey into his flask. "Simple question mate, no reason to get all flinch-like now," he began getting his pack together to trek back to camp. Draco lit up a cigarette. The second in command to their crew took a hefty gulp from his drink, glugging it down briskly. He went on to pester him, his throat scorched. "You didn't answer the question, you know. Did you, or didn't you?"_

" _No Scabior, I didn't." he told him, exasperated. "In fact, the Gryffindor witch hated my guts… and the feeling was mutual." Draco added for good measure, taking a couple puffs from his tar-stick. Nasty habit he'd picked up the summer he'd been branded with the Dark Mark. It felt like only yesterday he was in his Slytherin bedchambers, scolding himself and wishing he'd backed Granger into a wall while kissing her instead of violently holding her up by her robes - but that was already a year ago. He still regretted it. He was the biggest imbecile there ever was… Draco would keep smoking. He was likely to die soon as it were._

" _Mmm…" the mangy wolf hummed and the way it sounded made Draco feel sick to his stomach. "I bet you she's a virgin, that one." He was about to sludge away when he tapped his chin and asked timorously, "Are_ you _a virgin, Malfoy?"_

_Draco barked a rough laugh, yet his cheeks were stained with two rosy spots. "It's really not any of your business but I'll have you know that I'm not a virgin in the least. I've had my fair share of -"_

" _I'm sure that's true lad," dodgy Scabior patronized. "Tell me, where was it the young heir of the_ great _Malfoy family had his first clandestine tryst? And better yet, who was the lucky lady?" his countenance was dramatic, clearly mocking his lineage. In spite of himself, Draco was surprised that the man actually understood such grand vocabulary. He decided he'd humor him with the truth._

" _Spain actually," he replied. "Well, an island off the coast of Spain in the Mediterranean. I had just turned fifteen."_

" _Oh bloody fuck," Scabior breathed, eyes beaming with a sort of admiration. "Was she… was she exotic?"_

" _She was a local, so I mean yeah, I guess? Not all Spaniards have black hair, brown eyes and dark skin, did you know that Scabior?" Draco chided, projecting his intelligence. Scabior huffed in objection but kept listening. "She did have dark, unruly hair sure, but her eyes were the bluest of crystals I'd ever seen. They were like shining, topaz moonstones. If you were standing really close to her, in the sunlight you could see the flecks of violet sparkling."_

" _Salazar's shit, you're a bleeding romantic." Scabior quipped._

_That wasn't exactly the truth - however Draco remained quiet, the corner of his mouth upturned into a small smirk. He was hoping Scabior wouldn't divulge to him his own conquest story. If the bloke did, he was liable to vomit right into the river below where he perched._

_Yet thankfully that had been the end of their camaraderie, though from a distance Draco persisted to observe what Scabior had been doing, waiting for him to screw up._

"Hullo Malfoy, chipper as usual I see." Scabior sang with a snarky tone as he sauntered right past where the fair-haired young man sat on his log. Draco didn't bother to greet him, just glared at the brute with a raised, silver brow.

It wasn't long after when his Dark Mark tattoo itched and burned beneath his skin. A meeting with the Dark Lord in the middle of the day wasn't probable, which meant…

"Taboo's been spoken!" Scabior yelled and Draco stood instantly, donning his father's Death Eater mask as he ran towards him.

Fenrir Greyback was standing there too. He glowered down at Draco with feral disdain, scrutinizing him with his judgmental, beastly blue eyes. "Let's go," he ordered. Only  _he_  was alerted of the precise location where the Taboo was said, therefore they all had to grab onto him to Apparate along-side. A handful had gathered to join the chase and each of them grasped a section of the tall werewolf's cloak. Wherever they were about to be transported was a complete mystery until they arrived.

In the span of a heartbeat, Draco felt his stomach turn inside-out and suddenly he was landing smack dab in the middle of a densely-forested area, similar to where they'd just been. They were next to a strong, rocky body of water and straight ahead - just as he had hoped - were the individual members of the famous Golden Trio themselves. One of them had accidentally said the Taboo.

As a few of the others surrounded Potter and Weasley (Fenrir included. The beast liked to immediately berate and interrogate those he came in contact with, even if there was a female to be captured. Surely he believed he'd get a turn with the girl prisoner eventually), Draco saw Granger slip away through a clearing in the thicket and hot on her trail was Scabior and another Snatcher named Gus. Gus had a serious mental illness called stupidity, so Draco wasn't very worried about him.

With everything he had Draco ran after them. There was a valiant determination fiercely coursing through his veins. He would not let her down this time.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 _April 17_ _th_ _, 1998: Cala Presili - Illes Balears, Spain_

Draco planned ahead for this sort of situation. He knew exactly where he would take them, had he been presented the opportunity to escape with her. He'd thought of it the day he was asked about his virginity.

They were in Menorca. It was a little hunk of land in the Balearic Islands off the coast of Spain - exactly where he'd lost his innocence. This is where he'd chosen to bring Hermione Granger to safety. There was absolutely no way that Voldemort or any of his followers could find him. No one of significance knew Draco bore a sentiment to these beaches. They really did have a chance to catch a quick breather before inevitably, they go back to save Pothead and the Weasel.

On Menorca - specifically Cala Presili - he had them safely stowed in a five bedroom, run-down beach-cottage along the grassy sand. It was the perfect, ocean-front villa and it wasn't too close to the water. It was up a ways on the cliff actually, right before the beach. He'd picked it at random. This was predominately a wizarding village, yet he came to this very place ahead of time and casted protective enchantments on the house in case there were muggles or travelers of any kind that may have tried to take up lodging. It was his now, basically. If he wanted, he could make it so - just like that. He'd ward off and curse anyone who'd dare try to take from him his secret haven near the coves.

It definitely needed a lot of work though, the fixer-upper. He'd get on that eventually but right now, it wasn't important. If there was anything that desperately needed tending to, he'd do what he had to but no more than necessary in their current situation.

Hermione whimpered as she stirred, waking to the mellow-yellow sunlight dripping from the window above her. Draco watched as she palmed her face where she'd been smacked by her attacker. She opened her chocolate eyes and with great horror she seemed to recall what had happened before she'd fainted into unconsciousness. A gasp fell from her lips and she stood from where she'd been lying on the queen-sized bed.

"It-it's alright," Draco tried with a soothing thrum in his voice as he inched towards her from the shadows. "You're safe with me, I swear it Granger."

"Malfoy…?" she asked, taking a tentative step closer so she could see him better. "Is it… is it  _really_  you?" She was in shock and disbelief; there was a certain way about how he sounded just now when he spoke that was unfamiliar and within him, a mysterious energy emitting that she hadn't quite expected.

There was a change in him, she could sense it at once yet still she felt scared of him. He was a Death Eater, after all - one of Voldemort's rotten, no-good minions. How could he possibly convince her he meant no harm? He'd detested her in school and she could tell that ultimately, he wanted nothing to do with her. Gradually he'd lost his wits, roughly putting his hands on her when he went insane with anger. She'd iced him out the rest of the year and they were never able to resolve the drama between them. What if he resented her even still? She was  _the_  Undesirable mudblood and the Dark Lord wanted her at all costs, so how could she trust him?

"Yes," Draco breathed, coming into the light. "It's really me." Hermione dared not speak, just stood frozen in the middle of the room. She gazed upon him, fully taking in his appearance. She hadn't seen him in what felt like forever and she'd been dreaming of the moment she could finally lay eyes on his striking, handsome features again.

If it was possible, he was even taller than the last time she saw him at Hogwarts. At her estimation, his staggering height looked to be about six-foot, three-inches or so but Draco wasn't exactly the lanky boy he used to be, was he? Clearly, he was stronger; Hermione assessed the toned muscles of his bare chest beneath the unbuttoned, long-sleeved, loose grey shirt he was wearing. There were tiny tuffs of manly hairs sprouting there, which had Hermione almost drooling at the sight. His shoulders lay wider, broader and the black-vest he had on top was appealing and brought his ensemble together. Even though he wasn't lanky anymore, he was lean and she found herself fantasizing about the ripples of his abdomen that must be there, hidden under his garments.

She attempted to push away the fast flush that was reddening over her skin as she noticed how on top of everything else, his trademark silvery-blonde tresses had grown much longer. The tips of his hair brushed against his neck, falling past his chin and framing his face in an angelic way. She would indeed, believe he was an angel if it weren't for the hardened gleam in his wise, arctic stare and the small battle scars that adorned his face. There was one on his left eyebrow and the other was split down the side of his face - a jagged groove from temple to cheekbone.

Draco Malfoy was more rugged than ever - inexplicably roguish, rather. It was like he'd  _seen_  things, bad things that must have numbed him to the bone. Although stunned with herself, Hermione had to admit that this new, thuggish Malfoy was…  _incredibly_  fucking sexy, but she couldn't let his devastating attractiveness distract her from getting to the bottom of it all. She  _had_  to get back to Ron and Harry. What if they hadn't gotten away? Were they okay? They  _needed_  her. She glanced around the room and out of the window, realizing that they were at a beach. The anxious turmoil inside her was festering.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" she questioned, the fire inside her ablaze once again. " _Where_  are we?" her eyes demanded an answer straight away and he swallowed down his own anxiety.

There was a spectacular will that'd been brewing within Draco, one in which he hadn't allowed himself to feel when they were at school. In recent days, there'd been a huge difference in how his brain worked so he wasn't going to let her walk away again, not without a fight and not until she knew the truth.

He'd not allow her to run from him, but  _most_  especially because of the steamy way her hungry, deprived eyes had drank him all up just then. She'd blatantly checked him out, top to bottom. Oh no, he wasn't going to let that go.

"Menorca - a Balearic island in the Mediterranean, right next to Spain," he told her.

" _Why_?"

"It was… the best place I could think of to bring you temporarily, while we figure out what to do next. No one will find us here." Draco took a deep breath, gauging her reaction. He couldn't pretend he didn't see the beet-pink blush imbedded in her cheeks. She was so cute, all frazzled and embarrassed. He hoped he didn't come off as too terrifying with how haggard he'd been looking lately. At this point, he was pretty sure he exuded the outward image of some kind of roughed-up gang member. Well, he  _was_  a criminal.

Hermione gazed at him, mesmerized and expecting he would elaborate further. She was taken aback and fully intrigued by what he'd said. Could it be true? Had he actually forsaken his tyrannical leader and fellow comrades in order to rescue her? Gods, she was such a  _moron_. He'd just saved her life and she hadn't even properly thanked him. What  _was_  a proper thank you in this particular scenario, with this particular wizard?

 _Shit_ , he was fetching.

"I've taken over this abandoned beach-house," he declared and pointed to the closet adjacent from them. "Fortunately, I found some clothes that've been discarded, hanging up in there. Take whatever you like. I'm certain they used to be owned by a woman."

"Um… alright. Thanks," she said meekly, still thoroughly enthralled. She was about to spill her guts to him, about to shower him in more thank you's and ask him the thousands of questions that'd been rampantly ruminating in her mind - but then he smiled at her. It was a genuine grin, showcasing his perfect, pearly teeth and Hermione remained unmoving, completely transfixed.

"I uh," he searched behind him on the desk and picked something up from the darkness in the corner. He came nearer and gingerly held out the most prized item she'd been missing. "I think this belongs to you."

"Good Godric," she sighed and took back her beloved vine-wood wand with pride. "How did you - I can't believe…" Hermione couldn't help it: the built-up stress between all of the loneliness and the torment she'd endured - along with the unexpected, overwhelming appreciation she suddenly felt for the Slytherin - was catching up to her. With sweet release the hot, wet tears spilt from her vision, steadily seeping down her face.

Draco observed how she wept, not positive if it was from relief, sadness or both. Instinctively, his body moved on its own accord and before he knew what he was doing his arms had come round her shoulders, holding her tightly in his warm embrace. To his surprise she accepted him, resting her hands on the small of his back and nestling her head against his heart. Hermione's lithe frame shuddered in his arms as she wracked with the gravity of her tiny sobs. He twined his fingers in the fabric of her charcoal-black jumper and used his other palm to gently smooth her hair down comfortingly. It was now or never - to tell her what he wanted to, that is.

"I -" he stammered, the demons within him waging their own wars. "We don't have a lot of time. Look at me,  _Hermione_." Her eyes widened, stupefied and she did what he'd asked, locking their gazes. His silvery-aquamarine orbs bore into her soul as he tangled his hand through her splay of long curls and pressed himself ever closer. The arm looped around her middle held her sufficiently in place. She felt herself utterly swoon against his sensual body. Her dormant core awakened from within her like a mighty volcano and a searing heat welled inside - yearning,  _threatening_  to erupt. Draco licked his lips. "I'm… really,  _really_  fucking sorry. I-I know I can't even begin to make up for a-a lifetime of being terrible to you, and I'm well-aware I became a Death Eater and everything but… I want to do whatever it takes to-to  _change_  things… whatever I can to… ahem," his throat was so very dry. "Whatever I can to make you see -"

Without warning, Hermione leaned inward and mashed her wet mouth tenderly upon the pale flesh of his collarbone, immediately igniting from him a rage of arousal. He almost groaned from the sensation, his lips in a tight-line as he tried to suppress any proof of how he felt. "You really are the  _most_  extraordinary, most  _puzzling_  enigma I've had the pleasure of knowing, Draco Malfoy…" she purred from below his chin. She was being uncharacteristically flirtatious, given the dire circumstances but then she scooted away a bit, flustered from her abrupt impulse. "Do you really mean to  _tell_  me right now,  _standing_  there that you've legitimately defected from... Well, I  _can't_  say it. From him…?"

"Absolutely," he replied with total seriousness.

"Can you please, please tell me what the  _hell_  happened?" she begged him adorably and he snickered, preparing himself to break it down for her. He reluctantly released his grip and took a significant step away. Both of them ignored the awkwardness that densely lay in the air. He sighed.

"Where shall I even start?"

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

Hermione was taking a shower. The door was closed and the steam was billowing out from under the door of the washroom. Draco suspected she'd not had a chance for a deep cleaning in quite some time and was probably enjoying herself to the fullest. It was good there'd been extra soap lying around, as well as many other valuable amenities.

In the last hour, he relayed to her what he'd been through all year. He told her that his night terrors he'd mentioned to her in the Room of Hidden Things had never ceased, that he'd been so weary and delusional at times. That the Dark Lord had taken over his estate, his life - all of it.

Draco told her how Voldemort emotionlessly murdered his parents in cold-blood and why. Hermione had given him another hug and told him she was sorry for his loss, which was the considerate thing to do. They would have never been so cordial to one another at Hogwarts and it felt incredibly surreal, like somehow they were already close friends. He then proceeded to explain how that night he'd opted to join Greyback and the Snatchers with the strict idea that if he'd stuck with them that eventually he was liable to run into conflict, especially with the Trio or at least somebody who could lead him to her. He'd also explained how he went to Godric's Hollow with Snape which was how he got the wand: another incentive to find his way back to her.

He was dying to tell her about Snape being in love with Lily Evans - Harry Potter's mum but wanted to wait until later. At sunset, he felt inclined to take her to his favorite place on the whole island and… make some things known. Then, they'd make haste back to England and see what they could do about finding her idiot companions.

Hermione had agreed to wait for a little, grab a good meal and discuss the details. She'd all but skipped into the lavatory when he'd told her of the various bath supplies and toiletries he'd found.

Draco thought about the now much more matured, still  _very_  beautiful witch within the washroom. He shouldn't stay lingering for any longer, for if she knew he was out there pondering the thought of her without any garments on, she would surely become uptight or feel humiliated. She'd just been sexually assaulted by a filthy excuse for a wizard and he really wouldn't have blamed her anyway.

Giving her some privacy, he shut the bedroom door behind him and went to a separate bedroom with a different washroom to take his own shower. He wasn't so clean himself and his thoughts had turned impure as well, but only in the sense where he wanted to shag Hermione Granger senseless. Had she  _any_  idea what she did to him?

Hermione was rinsing from her mane of curly tendrils, the lavish coconut-fig conditioner she found. She'd cut a moderate amount of her chestnut-brown hair last summer, before she went on her journey with Harry and Ron but since then it'd grown below her waist again like how she had it all of sixth year. There was a part of her that always liked having lengthier locks, mainly for the several styles and up-do's she could indulge in. Normally though, she simply swept her hair back in a pony-tail or braid. Harry and Ron told her before on numerous occasions, how she looked like a true princess - their Gryffindor Princess and she couldn't help but feel stupidly flattered from it. It was cute when it was from her best friends but she honestly wasn't much into all the attention she'd received as the brightest witch of her age.

She couldn't waste too much time here. The would-be Head Girl  _needed_  to help her comrades as soon as possible - no matter how enticing the idea was to spend her days with Draco Malfoy on an island. Believe it, she wished more than anything the war never happened and her and the Prince of Slytherin could have gotten to know each other in a normal, untainted alternate life.

Yet, that didn't mean they couldn't  _try_  in this one…

When she was finished bathing, Hermione took a moment to peruse the dressers. There wasn't much to be said for underwear but she did find a few pairs of spandex shorts which were sensible for all outfits. Even though the weather outside was sunny, there were some fresh boot-socks which would be great for the military combats she had. In the closet, there was a beautiful white sundress she couldn't pass up. She was glad she'd been able to shave her legs. It was soft and sultry, cinched at the waist and its fabric had reddish-pink island flowers with green leaves strewn all over. She could certainly wear it for the remainder of the day to be comfortable while she was at this beach-town  _and_  to blend in with the other islanders. The slip-on sneakers in the shoebox on the floor also perfectly matched the dress. There was a pair of black, Ray-Ban sunglasses and for later she nabbed a pair of jeans that were gratefully her size, as well as a sensible but trendy, black leather jacket. To make her life easier she took some extra, essential-type shirts.

Yes, she was all set. By some miracle, she had her charmed bag still. It'd never come off of her in the struggle with Scabior and Draco had left it for her on the desk in the corner of the bedroom.

It was mad; Malfoy had really come round, hadn't he? Merlin, she didn't know what to do with herself. For once in her life, Hermione wanted to give herself to a man -  _all_  of herself. Should she actually? What could possibly be holding her back? The Slytherin ferret had proved himself in more ways than one and quite frankly, he deserved some recognition. She wanted to show him how much she appreciated him, how much she admired his brave apostasy. Hermione was feeling shy but damnit, she wanted to  _fuck_  him. Draco might really get it, on that very day, within those very hours. Why not? When  _would_  be the right time? They may even die before tomorrow. There was nothing stopping her, as far as she was concerned.

After she'd dressed, Hermione sashayed down the staircase to the landing in the foyer where Draco had been assessing the deterioration of his run-down cottage. He heard her arrive and turned around, instantly forgetting whatever deduction he'd made. He couldn't help when his breath hitched, stunned to the spot from the sight of the gorgeous goddess standing before him. He almost couldn't speak…  _almost_.

"Granger, you-you look fucking marvelous," he said, standing tall and attempting to not seem as captivated as he was. He hoped he looked put-together and reposed. The Gryffindor was dressed much nicer than he, in that alluring little dress. He'd chosen to keep wearing what he'd had on, except he ditched the vest until they were ready to leave. Draco didn't care necessarily if he seemed stylish or not. Screw what the public thought. He had bigger fish to fry, as they say. "H-How are you feeling?"

An authentic, pretty smile had graced her features and lit up her bright, burnt-sienna eyes. Her face was flushed, bringing out the ambrosial dusting of freckles that were splattered along her lovely nose and cheeks. Draco was beside himself, for just now a pang shot through his chest and he felt that if he had the chance, he would  _marry_  this witch.

"I'm better now… th-thank you so much," she told him.

"It's the  _least_  I can do," he offered, feeling guilty for his past transgressions. "You're hungry, right?" she nodded vigorously and he lightly chuckled. "Let's get you something to eat, then. I know a good place and we can walk from here."

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

They made their way into the bustling village and Hermione was hard-pressed to know about where he'd taken her. This place had a strange, familiar-type of air about it.

"So, how is it you first came to Menorca?"

"Actually, my parents brought me here," he answered solemnly. "It was one of their favorite islands to come and get away during the summers… or winters." They walked around a bend where they came directly into the middle of what was obviously the main, outside market in town. There were fruit and vegetable stands, vendors that had fish and various meats or cheeses as well as many other produce and home-goods items. Hermione peered around, riveted. Then, to her left she noticed there was a quaint bookshop (which was  _especially_  inviting) and very curiously, right next to that was what looked like a parchments and quill shop. Draco followed her line of view and smirked. "Ah yes, didn't I mention?" he edged nearer, bringing his face in close to her ear and whispered, "This part of the island is - predominately - a wizarding community."

"Oh, is it really? That's amazing," she replied.

"They hide it well, though. So many tourists  _do_  come through but they tend to stick around Cala Tortuga a few miles from here. I believe at one point, Menorca was exclusive to only magical-folk, like  _us_." Draco continued on, quietly. It was almost impossible to be sure who around them were wizards or witches.

Hermione snickered lightly. "Like us? So, can I ask you then? Have you  _really_  changed your mind about me? Do you think I deserve my magic?" He almost laughed. Of course she would remain skeptical. He probably had a lot more convincing to do, even still. He led them through a cobblestone ally where he could say more than if they were surrounded by all those people. Without thinking of the personal repercussions, he laid his hand over her shoulder - her  _bare_  shoulder. Her delicate, tawny-golden skin was so soft and it was nearly too much for him.

"Granger," he began after taking a calming breath. " _Yes_ , I've changed my mind entirely and… I feel embarrassed to admit it but it was  _ages_  ago when I came to the realization that you deserved your magic. I can't recall when specifically but eventually I noticed that the resentfulness I felt, as well as my  _jealousy_  of you evolved into something very different, something very…  _real_  instead." He'd chosen his words carefully. She blinked up at him bashfully, like she had that evening in the Astronomy Tower. He could feel her energy. The look she was giving him; she wanted him to kiss her but he had to hold off. He was procrastinating until the moment he thought it felt perfect. He swallowed thickly, his thumb tracing little circles over the suppleness of her décolletage. "I started to… admire you." Now Hermione was gulping, a twinge of a blush on her cheeks. She was unquestionably flattered. Her body was burning up, her soul was on  _fire_.

"What?" but it was not the easiest concept for her to grasp. "No you did  _not_ …" she might have fainted again. She was so famished and so far the day had been a plethora of one heavy, enlightening bit of information after the other. She was getting irritated. "It-it certainly didn't  _appear_  that way, Dra -"

In a flash he had his finger pressed against her lips, immediately hushing her. "Wait. Don't say my name," he said. "At least not my whole name… I have a feeling a Taboo on us is in the works."

"Al-alright," she responded, agonizingly flustered.

"Come," he grabbed her hand and without another peep from her, they went back into the crowd.

Before long, he had them get comfortable at a table in a dim-lit, musky pub. However, the dingy dive bar had a particular charm about it and Hermione was slightly reminded of the Three Broomsticks. Draco read the sign as they'd come through the entrance, "L'estel Vermell," he told her. "Most of the locals speak Catalan in Menorca. It's translated as the Red Kite, which is a type of hawk - a bird of prey that thrives in the beachy environment here because of the lush meadows scattered about. Some eccentric, adventurous folk even prefer to use them to send letters instead of the usual,"

"That's fascinating," Hermione breathed. She peered down at the drink list. To further prove exactly how magical of a village they were in, she saw that L'estel Vermell served firewhiskey and the like. The legal age to  _buy_  alcoholic beverages in Menorca was eighteen, but if you were under eighteen you were still allowed to drink around older adults and indoors.

A unique-looking, exotic waitress greeted them and Draco and Hermione gave their beverage orders. Her name was Luisa. Luisa must have been a woman in her mid-twenties but she hadn't asked them for any form of identification, which was fortunate. Hermione didn't have any money to technically buy Draco's drinks so was having a mild panic attack previous to the encounter. She supposed it was because he'd ordered a firewhiskey - which typically only magical folk knew existed.

"I've got to say, I did  _not_  expect you to want an Imperial Double-IPA," he muttered and she laughed. "Seriously, I could have sworn you'd order a-a glass of red wine or a mimo- _sa_ , whatever they bloody call it."

Hermione cackled with unbridled mirth again. "It's mi _mo_ sa, not mimo- _sa_ ," she stated proudly.

She'd caught herself staring at the apparent ex-Death Eater with calculated lust after finishing up their entrée's. With Draco's rugged new appearance - including his booted, medieval outfit - the once Princess of Gryffindor thought she might be gazing upon a wizard from another era. It all had her positively overcome with attraction.

"You know," Hermione began, preparing herself. Out of the blue she found herself feeling extra bold, thanks to the alcohol. He stared right back at her expectantly, sipping his throat-scathing liquor. "I must admit, you look absolutely  _dashing_  since you've become a pirate," she quipped, smirking as she took the mickey out of him. She wanted to let him know she liked what she saw but in a sarcastic, humorous way. At her comment he grinned at once, his brow quirking in bemusement. "Please,  _do_  tell me what it's like to sail the great seas of Earth and bootleg the new worlds of their  _wild_  treasures," she waved her hands melodramatically, as if she were in a play and he chuckled heartily. She definitely had the ability to make him crack up and he'd never been so delighted.

"Ugh, the hedonistic life of a buccaneer sounds  _immensely_  more appealing than that of a Death Eater," he lamented. Hermione agreed. It certainly did. She kept eyeing him across the table where she sat, almost done her third beer. She could hold her alcohol well but she knew it would be wise to start sobering up. Suddenly, Draco spoke. "Don't you ever wish that... oh, I don't know. Never mind,"

"No. Say it," she pleaded. The Slytherin gulped down a gigantic amount of his beverage and Hermione was sure that if she'd done that herself, she would have retched.

He smacked his lips and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his grey shirt. "Okay, so… do you ever  _think_  that perhaps - hypothetically - if we were in another life… or lived in a different era or dimension or-or if we'd have been  _muggles_  and gone to muggle school together then maybe, we might have been friends or… something?" He peered at her with half-lidded eyes, trying to hide his flushed cheeks with his large goblet. Hermione couldn't believe it: he'd taken the words from her tongue.

"I, um… well, yes." The Gryffindor stammered, once again feeling shy and very shocked for the hundredth time that day. "That's… come to mind before - on several occasions…" Although it had been quite a lot more than she just let on. Was he reading her thoughts?

"Now, I know what you're thinking,"

Her eyes widened. "Pardon…?" Draco laughed.

"You think I'm using Legilimency on you! That's cute, Grang - ahem," he paused, remembering what he'd thought about the Taboo. "I assure you, I would never  _do_  that - not unless you wanted me to, not unless… your life depended on it."

Hermione blinked slowly, unable to digest the butterflies accumulating in her stomach over the epiphany swirling within. Unanticipatedly, she somehow  _knew_  - just then - that Malfoy truly must have grown to care for her. Otherwise, how could all of this even be possible? If he had feelings for her, it meant that what she felt for him was not unrequited.

"So then, what  _was_  I thinking?" she pestered.

"It's uh, really not important because I just want to sort of…  _further_  elaborate on what I said. Exactly how long have I known you? I've spent enough time with you by now that I can read your expressions like an open book," he teased and without warning picked up his chair and set it right beside hers. He lackadaisically plopped himself onto it with a sigh, his knees prodding and rubbing against her outer leg. Hermione just about shuddered from the friction of his black trousers fabric accidentally forcing the skirt of her dress up, exposing the spandex knickers at her tanned hip.

Before he relented on, Draco leaned forward and languidly brushed his fingertips across her naked thigh and there was that smoldering volcano, the heat pooling rapidly within the center of her core. She could see he was a tad more inebriated than he probably meant to be, and despite the fact that in the last twenty-four hours she'd been sickeningly molested, she found she couldn't have cared less. Her abdomen rapidly swelled with want,  _need_  as she welcomed his gentle touches.

"I can read you, little lioness. I know when you're angry with me, I know when you're disgusted with me... most adorably your nose gets all scrunched and if possible your mane of coffee curls becomes more savage - more  _sexy_ ," his face inched closer and instinctively she gravitated to him like a magnet. Hermione inhaled the fuel-like substance there lingering near his tongue as she got swept up in his glacier-blue gaze. She liked this though, and desired to mingle the hoppy beer taste she had with his. "I can even tell that you get nervous. Like a baby doe, you take just  _one_  look at me and I can see you unravel, can hear your heart thumping uncontrollably within your  _chest_ ," his voice was low and salaciously gruff as he made a show of unashamedly glancing down at the tops of her bosoms where a wicked amount of cleavage was present in her current, bent forward position. Oh shite - he wasn't kidding was he? Everything he said... he was being honest. "You're always so flustered with me and your freckled cheeks get  _so_  bloody red you'd think the Gryffindor was bleeding out of you,"

She was about to haughtily object when he grazed his pillowy lips ever so softly to the corner of her mouth. A tingle of electricity reverberated through her spine, her tummy flipping upside down and she couldn't move.

"I can tell when you _want_ me - the precise moments when you wish I would kiss you," he whispered to her, reluctant to back away. Carnally, he wanted to consume this witch. "And how this was  _not_  necessarily one of those moments," he chuckled, his eyes sparkling mischievously, yet she needed not answer. Draco knew it'd been a lot to take all at once, so he ceased his tormenting and gave it a bit to sink in. He felt his chaste kiss had been the correct move instead of what he'd rather have done, which would have been smooching her directly on the mouth.

All Hermione could manage was a small smile, for she was stunned. Out of all the wizards she could have fallen in love with, it had to be Draco sodding Malfoy. What a cruel joke. How could they ever really be together? A relationship with him would be  _doomed_ , she knew it.

They were star-crossed.

Luisa came around the dining room and Draco handed over more than a sufficient amount of galleons. "There's… one more thing I have to show you before we go back," he relayed to her. "You don't mind sparing only a little more time, do you? I promise you, we'll leave after."

"No, no I don't mind." Hermione replied, willing herself to be more courageous. They left L'estel Vermell post-haste and Draco led her away to the quiet outskirts of the village.

 **AN** : Your reviews mean the world to me so please, drop a line and tell me what you think! I absolutely cannot wait to get started on the next installment, so look out for the next update within the upcoming weeks. I have a lot going on and Part Five is probably going to be a long one. Also, I did not make up the mimosa line. I obnoxiously took that from a meme I saw LOL any who, I hope everyone's having a great week and has a fantastic weekend also *hugs*


	5. Part Five

**AN** : Well, here we are. I'm finished Part Five already. I don't think I have much to say about this chapter, except for the fact that the garden they go to and the romantic story I have Draco talk about is totally original. I made up the names of the people as well as the plotline, although I guess it's loosely inspired from Romeo and Juliet but that is not at all what I was going for, okay? Anyway, I want to thank all of my followers! You guys are the greatest!

 **Warning** : There are mentions of light drug-use via the scent of magical poppies, as well as graphic depictions of SEX. Yes, there I said it. There is a fair amount of lemony-goodness later in this chapter so I do hope you all enjoy it! Happy reading, friends :0)

 **Oblivion: The Forbidden Fruit**  
Part Five  
-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

 _April 17_ _th_ _, 1998: Parc Natural de S'albufera des Grau - Illes Balears, Spain_

Draco Malfoy held a fuzzy rosemary sprig up to Hermione Granger for her to better inspect it. "Can you smell the evergreen pine?" he asked. Hermione sniffed a small whiff and upon inhaling its fragrance, felt completely relaxed.

"Yes," she breathed. Her honey-caramel eyes shone bright with interest. "I can even detect notes of… lemon, I think." Draco smirked devilishly and with the herb tickled the top of her petite nose. Hermione lightly squealed from the sudden, flittering attack and threw her hands up in a huff, waving the offending weapon away from her face. She was giggling, nonetheless and it only made his grin grow wider. After they'd calmed down, the Gryffindor snatched the sprig from his fingers and held it up to her line of sight. "My mum -" she started to say but then snapped her mouth shut. Hermione thought of her parents every day and yet, on this day for once her mind had been quiet over the fact they no longer had any memory of their now eighteen-year old daughter.

"What? What about your mum?" Draco prodded her, slightly unaware of the deep, riptide of emotions blustering within her like a hurricane. He  _knew_  her though and he could tell something was up from her distant, clouded gaze... the way she clutched the rosemary like it was saving her life. She was faded, dazed - a million miles away.

Hermione battled with herself for a moment, figuring out what to say but wavered. "I-I can't,"

Now Draco really knew something was wrong. "What happened…?" he wanted to speak her name so very badly but was overcome from his paranoia of the Taboo. She appeared to be mortified, peering down to the grassy, dirt ground and swirling the green leaves across her chin.

"I… had to do something," she croaked. "I had… no choice." The Slytherin bent forward, offering a comforting hand on her shoulder and she moved closer, leaning into his touch. He waited patiently for her to continue, delicately smoothing the tips of his fingers over her warm skin. "At the end of the summer before I left with my friends, I… I  _Obliviated_  the both of them, making them forget who I was. I gave them new identities so they'd move to another country. It was for their  _protection_."

"I-I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say," he said softly. Once again he felt like this was his fault. Hermione had suffered her own, great loss and he didn't even know. "That's… a very heavy thing to have to g-go through and… blimey, if I hadn't been such an idiot," he trailed off. Draco didn't want to make this about himself.

"Wha-what do you mean? It didn't happen because of you directly," she told him as they continued walking along the path through the wetland-woods. She was still latched onto the rosemary. "This is just yet another tragic result of the war,"

Draco kept silent a minute, for they approached the sun-stained clearing he'd been taking them to. He latched onto her hand for the second time that day and Hermione's breath caught in her throat as he locked his gaze with hers, leading them through the brush.

When he and Hermione entered the grassy, island-fresh meadow, the Gryffindor couldn't believe her eyes. Never had she seen such a lush, floral-splattered landscape. It was an ocean of rosy, punch pinks, deep, claret reds and the prettiest, lavish whites, blues, yellows, oranges and purples. It was a flower-rainbow and even though it really didn't, it seemed to splay on for miles over the rolling hills of the glen. The only structure in the way of the horizon - besides the couple of random trees - was what appeared to be the ruins of an ancient, decorative garden. She could see the prominent, deteriorated walls and columns, yet one of the sheltered, stone buildings still stood proudly.

"Do you like it?" he asked tentatively. Hermione turned to him, stunned and impressed beyond her own understanding.

"Yes, I do… very much so," she answered.

"This is what I wanted to show you," they strolled down, into the soft sea of flora. The potent, heavenly atmosphere was divine and Draco said, "You don't want to lay in the meadow for too long. You'll end up entering a dream-like state, or become unconscious entirely." Hermione wanted to giggle, remembering Dorothy Gale falling asleep among the field of poppies in the Wizard of Oz but despite herself she decided not to mention it. "I've been told this meadow has magical properties to it, perhaps enchanted or charmed long ago, though I'm not positive the exact nature of the supposed magic - but you can feel something here. It's… special."

"What sort of trees  _are_  these?" Hermione wondered out-loud as they passed by one a moment later.

"There's a combination of Mandarin orange, fig and pomegranate trees throughout this place," Draco relayed.

"Hmm…" she hummed, fascinated.

Eventually they came upon a decadent, beautiful fountain displayed at the entrance of the ruins, which at one point must have been a place of grand parties and medieval flight of fancy, Hermione surmised. It was a terrace, or patio-type area with sculpted topiaries dotted here or there, looping vines and drooping boughs. Suddenly, she found herself desperate to know more about the mysterious, hanging island-gardens. It was Balearic Spain's little wonder of the world.

"Can you tell me more about this garden?" Hermione queried.

"I have much to say about this garden love, but first… I'm curious to know what you were going to say about the rosemary and your mother," he stated lightly.

"Oh, um… well, my mother used to love rosemary! She liked to use it in a lot of her favorite dishes when she cooked but my father was dreadfully allergic to the plant, so after they married she couldn't enjoy it as often. It was a bit funny to me when she'd kick up a fuss to him about it, and… that's all I was going to say."

"Thank you for telling me, Gran- ugh!" he groaned, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. "I hate that I can't say you're name. It's  _fucking_  me all up,"

"I know. Me too," Hermione replied, completely smitten and enraptured by him and this new kindness he bore to her.

Draco sat down upon a stone-bench in front of hanging pink geraniums with bright bushes of white and purple Bougainvillea flowers on either end. Hermione followed, sitting beside him. They shared a minute of comfortable silence, taking in the captivating scenery before Draco coyly purred, "So, you want to know about the garden, do you?"

"Tell me ferret," she pressed and playfully hit him on his leg, batting her long lashes ever so innocently. His grey eyes glittered with impish mirth, warning her that if she continued to behave in such ways he was liable to jump her bones. Also, he didn't care in the slightest that she'd called him his dreaded ferret nickname. He sort of liked it when she said it to him so flirtatiously.

"Alright  _kitten_ , here goes." Draco took a deep breath and Hermione stayed smirking, happy with herself. "So… it's called, el Campo de Flores del Arcoiris, or the Rainbow Field of Flowers (Hermione inwardly gasped; she'd thought only minutes ago how much the meadow glistened like a rainbow) and this is its party-patio. It is said to have first been built over a thousand years ago, while slowly as time went on it'd expanded, gaining more flowers and décor. When I learned of this place I came to hear a story about a French woman named Mielle Descoteaux and a Spanish man named Giancarlo Huerta," he began. "It was the late fifteen hundreds, not long after King Henry the eighth's reign, I think. There was -"

"Wait, you actually know about the old muggle Kings of England?" she cut in.

"Yes well, my knowledge is certainly limited but believe it or not I  _have_  learned a little bit over the years by you know,  _reading_?" he chided, elbowing her in the ribs. Hermione giggled sheepishly.

"S-Sorry," she managed but he was snickering.

"Giancarlo Huerta was a bandit in his late-twenties; originally a Spanish heir to a rich Marquess who'd disowned him after impregnating his elder brother's fiancé. After being banished, the scoundrel Giancarlo sailed the Mediterranean, eventually having to flee from a pirate he'd outwitted and conned in an unfair bargain.

"Now, Mielle came from a wealthy pureblooded dynasty in the south of France. Yes, she was a witch but by the time she was seventeen she had no surviving relatives. Like you, she was talented, beautiful and lady-like. She could hold her own in any situation. Mielle was strong, courageous and not a girl to mess with. That's what legend says," Draco paused, observing Hermione's countenance. She was listening to every word with interest. He barreled onward. "She'd loved the sea since she was a baby and felt like she belonged to it. She enjoyed working on the docks, learning everything she could about sailing before going out on her own ship at twenty-five. Mielle somehow made her way to this island where coincidentally, Giancarlo was hiding. He'd chopped off his long hair and changed his name to Carlo, which wasn't very original in my opinion. He'd built his own shelter in the forest, keeping to himself and hoping no one would recognize that he was the fugitive man a whole crew was after. Although very clever, Giancarlo had never been like Mielle, whom naturally had better survival skills."

Hermione stopped him briefly. "I think I know where this is going…"

"And where's that?" he asked.

"Giancarlo and Mielle became lovers, didn't they?"

"You're too right gorgeous," he told her, producing from her the reddest of flushes on her bashful expression. "But there's more to the story. They were not simply just lovers. The two fell  _madly_  in love with each other, causing quite the uproar in magical Menorca. He was a wanted muggle-pirate and she was a rouge, pureblooded sailor-witch, previously with no attachments besides her great ship and the blue ocean. Their worlds collided in this very garden, which at the time wasn't in total ruins. They met here at Rainbow Field every night, making love and promising to leave the island once Mielle's work in Cala Tortuga was finished. Despite being somewhat of a pirate herself, Mielle only took on honest work and was therefore a lot more respected than the usual, ruthless buccaneer. It was even rumored she was a midwife to a few women, delivering to each of them a healthy baby."

"Jiminy cricket," Hermione breathed. "You seem to know a  _lot_  about this."

Draco chuckled. "Yeah that's true, isn't it? Let's just say, I had a friend who became a bit of an expert on the lovers. You also need to take into account that I've waited awhile to tell someone this tale." Draco stated melodramatically and she laughed.

"Please, do go on." Hermione pleaded and he obliged. However, she wondered who this supposed friend may have been.

"Okay so… it is said that Mielle had just finished the last of her work in Tortuga but the formidable pirate and his crew of plunderers and rapists - who Giancarlo was avoiding - dropped anchor in  _Presili,_  which as you may have figured, is closer to here than Tortuga. When she made it here to their meeting place at sunset, Giancarlo had crawled from his make-shift cabin leading a trail of blood all the way."

"No!" Hermione cried.

"It was already too late. The captain had asked questions in the village and there was someone untrustworthy who'd figured out who he was. Mielle cradled him in his arms and they enjoyed one last kiss before Giancarlo passed away. She buried him somewhere here, in the gardens. No one's sure where. Overcome with fury and anguish, Mielle set out to find the motley pirate captain and his brethren who were ironically and  _stupidly_ , staying at a lofty inn on the cliff-side coves of Tortuga beach. She went in and inconspicuously grabbed a drink there at the pub, noticing her prey getting loaded and having a wondrous time. She kept to her own business and later that evening when they'd all went to bed, she asked for a room and waited until the building was at its quietest. Then, Mielle went to each room and cast the Killing Curse upon every single part of the crew and when she got to the captain, he'd awoke with a start, looking for his weapon. Mielle was too swift though, and she unarmed the man immediately. Having him right where she wanted, she bestowed upon him an angry monologue of her trials and woes and why he deserved to die before murdering him too without remorse."

"Goodness me," she interjected.

"That's not even the end of it," he said. "After Mielle was done her vengeful deed, she came back here to the gardens where she… stabbed herself, bleeding out over Giancarlo's grave to join her lover in the afterlife. I believe… not only she had a broken heart, losing everyone in her life worth living for but with  _all_  of the blood on her hands - remorseful or not - it's… a lot to take responsibility for, I should know."

"Wow, I… I'm  _floored_ , Mal- fuck!" Hermione cupped her hands over her mouth, embarrassed. "I really do wish I could say your name,"

"The more I think about it, the more idiotic it seems I mean… don't you think the Dark Lord expects us to come back regardless?

"That's likely the case… but I'm not risking it yet. Not until we're back in England."

"Agreed," he concurred.

"The story… is it really true?"

"I think so. It's… too real, somehow hits too close to home. The only thing missing is the location of the grave," he told her.

"I wonder where it could be!" she mused, completely intrigued. "What a grand tale of beautiful romance and...  _tragedy_. It leaves the mind open to so much interpretation."

Without warning, Draco reached out and put his hand over hers, lightly stretching his digits over her much smaller wrist and hand. He swallowed thickly and said, "There's one more part of it, they say."

"Oh?" Hermione's ears were ringing, her heart thump-thump-thumping ferociously against her rib-cage and she remembered back at L'estel Vermell, when he'd told her he could hear it beating inside her. Was his heart doing the same? It had to have been, right?

"It's… supposedly tradition on the island, that when you  _feel_  it… that exact burning and aching within your soul, when you're absolutely sure that you've... fallen madly in  _love_  with someone," Hermione's eyes snapped to his. Where was he - gulp - going with this? "That you bring your special person here where if you'd like to, confess to them your knowledge o-of the story and…"

"Wha-what are you -" She was dreaming, yes? Was this… for  _real_?

"Damnit witch," Draco seethed, positively mortified. His nose and cheeks were splotchy pink as he snatched up her palm, pressing it to his heart and settling his other hand within her coffee-chocolate tendrils, reeling her in close. Admitting his feelings didn't come easy for him to begin with and he was so  _dreadfully_  nervous. Was she going to reject him? "You know very  _well_  where I'm going with this. You -"

Hermione leaned upward, gingerly but ardently brushing her lips on his before pulling back to gauge his expression. He stroked her curls, staring deeply into her eyes for what was almost an eternity and she peered at him, bemused. Their hands were still on his heart and to her delight she'd noted that it was wildly fluttering like that of her own.

"I'm sorry, it's just that I want to be able to remember every  _detail_  of this, every detail of  _you_ ," Draco confessed.

In an instant, he bent his head down and pruriently, lasciviously melded his mouth over hers - intensely drinking her as if she were the sweetest nectar on an oasis and he was the stranded, thirsty bastard who hadn't had a drop of liquid in days. She let him have her lips this way, responding with the same tempestuous earnest.

The Slytherin's hand had left hers and was holding the back of her neck, squeezing her shoulder with his other and flattening his body against hers ever closer. She was blending her tongue with his in what had turned to a lazy and languid, yet still urgent kiss and he shuddered from the electricity racing through his body. His heart was catapulting through space at the speed of sound and Hermione could feel it through her palm, taking her along with it. She moaned invitingly as he traced his long fingers across the sensitive skin of her collarbone, down ever so delicately between where her perfect, pert breasts met. Draco tugged her bottom lip with his teeth, suckling it into his mouth. Why had he taken so long to do this again?

She broke away from his lips and he leaned in to plant soft, wet kisses over the tawny skin of her sensitive throat. Hermione melted in his arms, sighing with the mighty waves of desire coursing hotly through her core. In truth, the Gryffindor was pretty sure she'd always harbored some sort of secret, imperceptible affection for the snake Draco Malfoy, only she'd never let herself acknowledge those feelings until that one day in the corridor during autumn of sixth year - when she'd realized he was the boy from her dream.

The whole time, it really was about  _him_. So strange, wasn't it? 'Bizarre,' she thought. It was  _bizarre_  how the anxiety-evoking dream with the bright green apple and the mysterious, forbidden boy - that all along it was leading up to this? None of it was coincidence, was it? This was meant to be.

Out of the debris he'd found her  _wand_ , all the while apostatizing himself emotionally from Voldemort and when it mattered most he took the time to rescue her. On top of everything, Draco was being completely appealing in every way and downright seductive. He was figuratively and literally sweeping her off her feet on a small, Spanish isle by telling her an amazing story in a beautiful, one thousand year old garden meant for lovers to enjoy.

And Draco just confessed he was in love with her. She felt it too, felt it within her aching heart, could feel it in her  _blood_ ; this was so very  _right_  somehow, even if on the outside it seemed wrong. Hermione would do all she could to make this work with him.

From a quick analyzation of the sun's position in the serene blue sky, Hermione could tell it was only mid-afternoon and before they went back to England - preferably after sunset when the moon and stars ruled the night - she wanted to give herself to Draco. Would he want to? The sand in the hourglass was running extremely low… They couldn't know for sure if they'd ever get another chance and for once in her young life, Hermione felt the innate need to be selfish. She wanted him, so she would have him.

Now might be the only opportunity she'd have to ask him, because then there he was again. His glacier-blue eyes were boring into her cinnamon-browns, slyly sliding his digits on the underside of her breast and down her waist over the curvature of her hip. The damnable, smoldering volcano that'd been broiling like lava inside her belly spilled forth uncontrollably and she praised the valiant lioness within that'd given her the nerve she needed to say what she said next.

"Do you think, uh that is… is there a  _possibility_  you might want to, you know?" she questioned tentatively and he chuckled. Draco knew exactly what she was asking but he wanted to play it out a bit.

"That I might want to…? Do what? Just spit it out, my love." Draco pressed his lips to hers again and Hermione was swooning in her seat. Suddenly she was leaping from his grasp and stood from the stone-bench, meandering timidly about the cobbled-terrace. For a second, he was confused. Did she not love him too, as he thought only moments before? While they were kissing, he could  _feel_  it. He was certain she felt the same, so why was she running from him?

However, Hermione very coyly twirled in her white dress and made a show of lowering herself into a poised, feminine curtsey. Then she was smiling and giggling like a nymph, submerging her fingers within the water of the fountain towards the entrance of the garden's patio. She skipped about a standing sculpture of a handsome, naked man and smoothed her palm over its abdomen as she danced away. 'She would have me chase her down, then?' he thought. Hermione was just being cheeky and coquettish. She was a little shy but she  _wanted_  him, he could tell.

Draco was about to rock Hermione Granger's world. She had no  _idea_  what she was really asking for.

The snake followed its prey out to the meadow and  _fuck_ , there she was - kneeling down about to inhale a patch of potent, red-orange poppies. His feet moved faster and he grabbed her by the shoulders, picking her up until she was totally upright. "Wh-wha -" she stuttered.

"You really shouldn't do that, not unless you  _want_  to get as high as a bloody kite, trust me. Normal poppies wouldn't affect you like that from simply its scent but like I said earlier, there's something about this place. The flowers here, they're special and they'll get you stoned...  _too_  stoned." Hermione laughed.

"It sounds like you're speaking from experience," she joked, clicking her tongue in authoritative disapproval.

"Well, there was this one time. I hadn't meant to, I… I was coerced by my friend. She was breathing in the decadent aromas, getting her jollies off and then she pushed me - right into the flowers where I succumbed to its pure bliss and sedation. It was magnificent beyond compare but… I certainly wouldn't do it again, for fear I'd get addicted." Draco relayed as he rested his hand on the nape of her neck and using his other he brushed the swell of her bottom lip with his thumb. "It can be quite  _tempting_ … like something else, like  _someone_  else." His kissed her softly, deeply. He couldn't get enough. It felt like time froze as an ethereal breeze swept around them, a cool wind swirling through their warm embrace.

"This friend of yours sure seems… enchanting." Hermione interrupted with a meek but playful attitude. It was her way of saying she wanted to know more, no matter the answer. Draco gave a light snort, amused by her comment.

"Her name was Estefania and she was definitely  _something_ , yes but those days are long over. I haven't spoken to her since then."

"Ah, I see. Have you ever... I mean, did you two ever  _do_  it… erm, do it  _here_?" she prayed the answer was no. She didn't want to end up the second of his garden-conquests.

"Absolutely not. Not here," he said without hesitation. "I admit she was my, ahem… my  _first_  but we never did anything like that in Rainbow Field."

"Why…?"

Draco was almost offended. Did he actually have to spell it out for the brightest witch of her age? "Because it wasn't tradition, we didn't  _love_  each other. It didn't feel right, didn't feel  _sacred_ , not like…" he paused, desperate for Hermione to confirm her feelings. "Not like how  _we_  feel about each other, yeah? You and I - you'd never have thought we'd be the perfect fit but if we give it a go, think of what we could do. I can't imagine a world where I can't be by your side." He stroked her temple to cheek and she mirrored his actions, reaching up to gently slide her hand over the scar on the side of his face. "I want to  _be_  with you," he whispered.

Hermione's breath hitched. She  _had_  to give him a response. "Then… stay by my side. I won't leave you, I-I want to be with  _you_ , too." Draco's hardened expression softened and his eyes brightened, his lips curling into an authentic smile. "Not a day, not even a minute has been able to sneak by me without thinking of you," she grumbled, frustrated sexually and emotionally. "I hated it… all I wanted was to see you again, to repair what we'd broken. If I'd only been kinder to you last year, we could have turned things around before it was too late,"

"It's alright," he told her. "It's  _going_  to be alright and it's  _not_  too late because listen here - you gorgeous, amazing,  _brilliant_  goddess - we're going to figure out a way to turn it all around, aren't we? We're going to find your friends and we're going to come up with a plan."

"Kiss me," she ordered. Draco did as he was told, pulling her closer and meshing their mouths together. With a smack of their swollen lips he released her and then she was demanding him. "Ugh, gods just-just  _take_  me - here, right now in the garden." He smirked and a chuckle darkly reverberated behind his throat. Hermione was simultaneously very frightened and very,  _very_  aroused. "Don't laugh at me," she wailed, her pride pricked. "It's a reasonable request, is it not? We could, you know get  _killed_ … at any moment honestly and I… well there's a few motivators -  _that_  being the first of them but the  _main_  one surely being that I  _do_  feel the same as you,  _for_  you." The Princess of Gryffindor was rambling, trying not to lose her wits. Draco decided she was making some excellent points but then she stepped away from his arms and started twiddling her thumbs nervously. "The least of my reasons and certainly the most trivial is that… I'd  _prefer_ not to die a virgin."

"You-you're a… wow, really? Sorry, I didn't realize." Draco responded feeling genuinely apologetic. "I would have thought Weasley or Potter at least." Hermione scoffed.

"What do you take me for, some kind of  _slag_? Yes, I love Ron and Harry but as my  _brothers_ , nothing more. I promise," she told him.

"No I don't think that about you at all, Hermio- grr." Draco growled and took a deep breath. "I just thought there was more to your feelings for each other, is all."

"Well done, ferret. You were wrong,"

He snickered evilly. "For once, I don't think I mind being wrong. Now, about this  _request_  of yours," he grabbed her by the hips, pulling her slender body in close to his again, his mouth mere inches from hers. "I have no reservations about  _fucking_  you're beautiful little body," he lowered himself and slammed his pelvis upwards, gyrating himself into her core through her dress. "Right here, right now," Draco caressed his hand across her bosom and her décolletage, foxily moving the strap of her dress down with his long, stealthy fingers. Hermione could feel his growing erection behind his pants against her abdomen and from all that and the gruff, lude words he was muttering to her… it made the bottom of the spandex shorts she was wearing become ever the more drenched with her hot lust for him. "I was laughing because you do  _not_  know what you're getting yourself into, princess."

Draco wouldn't let her say anything else, though. He was done talking about it and ready to take deliberate action. His pink tongue darted between her sweet lips, capturing her mouth again - just as he would like to keep doing as much as possible. He would stay kissing her, stay  _loving_  her until his heart stopped beating. His strong arms came round and squeezed her tiny frame in a hug, their lips still locked and he let his hand gingerly traverse its way downward, gripping the underside of her round, surprisingly large bum. 'Sweet Salazar,' he thought with conviction, roughly bringing up the skirt of her dress. He gripped the ends of the spandex there, pulling it to expose more of her bubbly arse. He shivered as he reached down and palmed each of her squishy, juicy cheeks.

The feel of her made him instinctually thrust forward and instantly, Hermione had worked the long-sleeved shirt over his head and was fumbling with his belt-buckle. He waved her hands away, undoing the insulting accessory and letting his pants drop to the ground. She rubbed her fingers over his buff chest and fooled with the tuffs of hair on his happy trail leading to his nether regions. Hermione's eyes widened as she discovered his long arousal poking out from the top of his under-trousers. Enticed by his length, she nestled her hand against him and he hissed in response, venomous and wanting to strike. She could feel wetness where his pre-ejaculation was already seeping from the tip. She was about to bring down the last of his clothing when he stopped her.

"I want to see every bit of you,"

"Yes," she replied, carrying out his bidding by peeling the top of her dress to her waist and Draco's mouth watered from the view of her scrumptious, full tits. They were so perky. She'd barely stepped out of her outfit before he was grazing them, tweaking her pretty, puffy nipples. He pinched and pulled on them in a vicious, tantalizing manner, eliciting from her the sexiest sounds he'd ever heard. Her whimpering and mewling from his calculated ministrations made his cock twitch and throb in her direction. Draco kneeled down and wickedly laved his tongue over one of her pebbles while he squeezed the swell of her in his hand. Hermione moaned, her thighs writhing together where she stood and her legs gave in.

Draco was forced to stop what he'd been doing to her as she was now low on the ground with him and taking down his trousers. Whatever he was going to say died on his lips when she took off her black shorts, bending over to take his hardness in her warm mouth and then slid her tongue along the side of his shaft. "Oh  _fuck_ ," was all he could manage at the time as she wetted him up, suckling him all around and slurping the length of him in and out down her throat. He allowed her to go on for a minute but no more than that, for if he didn't stop this she'd make him lose it too early. He took himself out of her mouth and gestured for her to lie upon the grass. When she did he grabbed her cushiony thighs and brought his face first to her toned belly, leaving an agonizing breadcrumb of kisses down to the womanly mound of her pristine, trim bush and then pressed himself closer, fully tasting the nectarine ambrosia dripping from her sodden, clean muff.

Hermione cried out as he intensely skimmed his tongue along her pinked, wet flesh and nibbled and sucked on her little, super-sensitive button. She moaned and whined, grinding herself against his mouth as the electricity in the heated friction grew ever warmer, ever closer to something Hermione had never felt before. Draco Malfoy was actually making her orgasm. He had her arse lifted from the ground, drinking up her juices as the eruption of liquid magma plundered through her nerve endings, wracking her body from the burning jolts of pleasure. She sighed as he carnally drank to his filling and when he was finished, he wiped off his face and chin with his bare arm.

"What the  _hell_  was that?" she found herself saying out-loud as he fit himself between her spread legs. He grabbed his rocky-mountain member and began gliding it sensually over her slickened folds, making them both shudder and groan.

"I could say the same thing about you, carrying on like that with your mouth around me. I could barely hang on for my life. I can barely hang on  _now_ ,"

" _So_  dramatic," she purred cutely. Hermione was such a kitten; he couldn't believe she was actually here, doing this with him. He was so grateful for whatever gods were shining their graces upon him. He'd put in a lot of work to establish this bond with the witch of his dreams. "Do it," she encouraged and Draco swallowed, trying not to whimper from the feel of her hot stickiness devouring his thickened, strained meat as he pushed it through the entrance of her tight flower. He came to a bendable point that stretched over his tip and Hermione held in a breath as they both felt her cherry bust open. Draco didn't mean to but his cock drove in deeper from the inertia of the breakage and she let out a small sob. Immediately he ceased moving, feeling terrible.

"Shit, I'm sorry! Are you okay?" he searched her pained gaze for any inclination that she wanted to end it.

"I-I'm fine," she stammered but she was strong. "I'm m-more than fine, actually. Keep going,"

Draco nodded, not having to ask twice. He brought himself out, giving her just a second and then shoved it back within her. He couldn't stop from groaning loudly this time, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he gradually picked up the pace. They moved in tandem while he diligently pounded inside her sopping sweetness. He'd found she was completely soaking him up and he rolled his hips harder against her, as deep as he could go. He was all the way inside and Hermione cringed but wholly welcomed him, her inner walls clenching him snugly. Her juices were dampening the fuzz around the hilt of his prick and their gazes were locked, not looking away from each other.

"Mm… you're so-so  _deep_ ," she mewed. "You f-feel so good," He left a bruising kiss on her lips.

"You sexy,  _lovely_  little witch, you feel  _fucking_  amazing." Draco gritted through his teeth as he slid his sticky, pulsating trunk out again and brusquely stuck it back within her. He repeated his cruel, hard thrusts over and over as he clawed at, kissed and bit on her rebounding breasts. Even though she loved it, he could tell she was crying out for more. "Would you turn over for me love," and Hermione silently obliged. She maneuvered to her elbows and knees, tossing her hair to the side and sleekly arching her back, baring her nude bouncy arse to him.

It turned out that as of then not the Dark Lord, but Hermione Granger was to be the death of him. At least, in this scenario he'd die stark raving happy.

"Like this?" she queried innocently, sashaying her bum from side to side. Draco reckoned she knew exactly what she was doing.

" _Just_  like that kitten," he said, coming behind her and roughly sticking himself back inside, filling up her tightness. "Gods, you're so perfect. You fit me like a fucking  _glove_ ," he grunted.

"Oh my- ugh fuck yes!" she whined, meeting him with every harsh movement as he pummeled his long cock in and out of her prim, flooded folds. The fleshly sounds their bodies were making were animalist, rude and  _dirty_  and it was turning them both on even more. The hammering of his hips as he slammed and banged within her had Hermione's legs shaking,  _quaking_  and the rolling plumpness of her jiggly arse with every collision was enough to send Draco blindly over the edge. "Angh, don't ever stop. I-I love it,"

"Mmm gorgeous girl," he mumbled, wantonly spreading her bum and kneading her tanned-golden skin with his fingers. Hermione relented on with her moaning as he tenuously fucked and fucked her and he reached forward and craftily swirled her mane of curls around his wrist, further pressing her onto himself. He gave one of her soft, rounded cheeks a great thwack and he felt her pussy gush more warm fluids all over his solid shaft. That is where he lost himself. With his last few barreling strokes Draco hoarsely groaned, the sweat beaded in a line at his forehead as he spilled his hot seed into the depths of Hermione's oceans.

Now that…  _that_. Making love to her was superb, was pure bliss beyond his comprehension. Better than any patch of poppy flowers. Draco only hoped - as memorable and satisfying as it was - that it wouldn't be the last time. Was there even a chance in Hades their relationship might survive or would their fragile fate be destined to end like the two tragic lovers - Giancarlo Huerta and Mielle Descoteaux? To move forward, all they could do was to fight for it. Their love was precisely what Voldemort was attempting to squash out, but Draco  _wouldn't_  have it. Over his dead body he'd let that nasty, heir of Slytherin win this war.

 **AN** : Okay, that's the end of Part Five. Please, drop a review and let me know what you thought! It means absolutely everything and delights me to hear from you all. I will begin writing the next chapter soon and we'll find out what happens when Hermione and Draco return to the homeland so keep an eye out for Part Six! Cheers, loves.


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